by Brant, Jason
Karen watched as the moaners regained their footing and began their shambling walk toward their prey. She was about to yell at McCall again when he grabbed her under her armpits and hoisted her onto the saddle. He grabbed Stephen and did the same, placing the boy in her lap.
“Listen to me very carefully.” With his right hand he pulled the Colt free and with his left he fished three bullets from his pocket. “Ride the horse until it dies. When it goes down, start walking. Don’t stop until you reach Sheol, no matter how tired you are.”
“What?” Karen sat on the horse, stunned at what he said. She couldn’t understand why he gave her directions.
“Shut up and listen to me.” He finished reloading the gun and handed it to her. In her confusion, she took it without realizing what it meant. “If you encounter any moaners that you can’t walk past, put them down with this. It holds six rounds. No matter what, save the last two for yourselves, just in case.”
The realization hit her like a punch to the stomach. “No! We can’t leave you here!”
McCall looked over his shoulder at the oncoming horde. They were less than twenty feet away. “Follow the tracks. Don’t veer away from them or you’ll lose all sense of direction. Conserve your water.”
“No, goddamn it! You can ride bareback!”
“This boy is too old and too tired to carry three people. He’ll go a whole lot farther with a small woman and child than with my big ass.”
They were ten feet away. The horse cried and turned away, facing the far side of the fence.
“I can’t do this without you!” Karen tried to swing her leg over the saddle, but Stephen’s weight stopped her.
“Karen,” McCall said, his voice soft and compassionate. She could barely hear him over the moans. “You’re stronger than I ever could be. Make it through this, for me.”
The crowd of flesh eaters were three feet away when McCall slapped the horse on the ass and screamed. It took off like it had been shot out from a cannon, crossing the small area instantly and hurtling the lowest rail of the fence.
Karen looked over her shoulder to see the first moaner tackle McCall from behind, sending both of them to the ground. She watched as the next one dropped down and bit into his ankle. The jouncing of the horse’s stride threatened to throw her off and she had to turn around. She couldn’t bear to see anymore.
They heard McCall’s scream over the thunder of the hooves for a second, and then it was gone.
Chapter 11
Karen cried for hours.
She ran the horse hard, until the house was only a speck of dark haze in the distance, before she eased up. Its breathing came hard and fast, but it otherwise seemed ok as it trotted along the side of the tracks. Stephen looked off into the desert with a blank stare.
Now she had no one. McCall sacrificed himself so that they might escape. He’d suffered a horrible, nightmarish death. One that she had asked him to spare her from only moments before. Now he was dead, and he would be forever remembered as a thief and murderer.
That was the worst part for Karen. He died a true hero – trading his life for two people he barely knew, one of which was a prostitute. But his legacy...
She fought back against more tears, but failed miserably. Knowing that all of her weeping wasted precious water she would soon need didn’t hinder their flow. Sobs shook her body as they rode on, head first into the oppressive heat.
Alone at the end of the world, Karen thought. He had saved her life, but to what end? What would they do now, starve in the desert? Even if they made it to Sheol, what would be their fate there? Even with her doubts, she resolved to push on, regardless of the hopeless situation, determined to make his death mean something.
They rode in silence for most of the day. The sun beat down on their heads and shoulders, making them weary and overheated. Stephen fell asleep off and on, lulled by the rhythmic gait of the horse. Karen hoped he would say something soon, if for nothing other than to hear the sound of someone else’s voice.
Twice they stopped to have a small piece of meat and sips of water. Though McCall had warned her to ride the horse as far as it would go and then leave it, she still served it water from her cupped hands. She hated seeing the froth forming on the animal’s mouth, and cringed every time it staggered a bit or slowed down.
Its end was near, but she couldn’t bring herself to deny it water, even knowing that she wasted what little bit they had. The saddle chapped her thighs, the pain growing with every bounce. She’d never wanted a stiff drink so much in her entire life, needing to numb both her physical and emotional pain.
Her mind wandered to the scripture that seemed to fly in her direction at every turn. Three times now someone had preached some nonsensical passages to her. But each time they seemed less like old gibberish, and more prophetic. They warned of the rising dead, the fall of the damned, and the consumption of neighbors. If that wasn’t fitting, what was?
But what did it mean? If the authors of those scriptures knew what would befall man, what could be done about it? She rode toward another city, having seen hers die in less than twenty-four hours, but she had no plan beyond that. Warning the inhabitants of Sheol would mark her as insane in their eyes. No one would believe such a story. If the city still stood, anyway.
The afternoon came and went in the blink of an eye. Time became irrelevant to Karen as they marched onward into the abyss of sand and heat. Her head bobbed to her chest several times as she dozed, only to snap awake, fresh tears streaking her cheeks as her mind eventually returned to McCall.
Their horse died as the evening washed over them. The sun shone directly ahead as the animal stumbled twice and collapsed, pinning Karen’s right leg underneath it. Two large, tired breaths followed before it succumbed to exhaustion.
After a brief struggle to get her leg free, Karen gave each of them a sip of water and then began their long walk. Dusk passed quickly, leaving them in the dark. Bright stars and a half moon gave them enough light to follow the tracks, but that was all. If any moaners were in the area, they would have no warning before bumping into them.
Stephen sat down in the sand around midnight, refusing to walk any further. His clothes and hair were drenched in sweat. Karen picked him up as McCall had and continued on, reminding herself of her obligation to McCall’s memory. They had to make it.
Her arms gave out before long and she had to carry him on her back. That proved easier, but her legs fatigued faster this way, and she wondered if this would be worse for them in the long run. She figured it might not matter anyway, if they didn’t find the city soon they would succumb to the elements when the sun rose.
A shrill sound pierced the silence of the night, startling Karen, nearly knocking her over. Even the comatose Stephen reacted to the unexpected noise.
The drone of a train came from in front of them, increasing in volume. Karen stepped away from the tracks, not wanting to get hit by the locomotive, but she was careful to keep the rails in view. McCall had warned her not to move away from them or risk being lost.
Light reflected from the metal surface of the lead car for several minutes as it hurtled forward. She stopped walking and rested, watching the train approach, wondering what to do now. No one would be able to see them in the darkness, or hear them over the roar of the steam engine. How could she warn them not to go any further, that death awaited?
It blew past them, flashes bouncing off random metal surfaces. Karen watched it for a bit, feeling a little better having seen a piece of civilization. They followed the tracks again as the last car rolled past and the occupants of the train headed into a nightmare they couldn’t possibly fathom. Though they rode to their deaths, Karen felt too exhausted to dwell on their fate.
She wanted to say a prayer for them, but didn’t know what the point would be. If this was a disease, she didn’t expect God to come down and cure them. And if this was biblical in nature, well...
The determination flowing through her veins felt like somet
hing she’d never experienced before. McCall, a man no one aside from her would ever understand, had forfeited his life so that she would have a chance at survival. The ramifications weighed on her – death didn’t feel like an option. Those thoughts were all that kept her moving.
Yet their muscles grew weary and sores broke out on their feet. Karen could feel blood pooling in her left boot, but she didn’t dare stop to inspect it, knowing that they would never have the willpower to start again. Stephen’s little body appeared to be on the brink of shutting down.
They walked for hours more. Sometimes she carried him; other times he walked. As the sun rose behind them, Karen caught a glimpse of something on the horizon. Her eyes had played tricks on her all night, contorting the darkness, forcing her to abandon hope long ago. When the hazy shape formed ahead of them, Karen didn’t pay it any heed.
It grew darker as they walked on, larger. The sun fully formed in the East, boosting the temperature at a rapid rate. Karen’s back baked as the desert hammered them yet again. Waves of heat rose from the ground in every direction. She did her best to focus on the growing darkness ahead of them, forcing herself to ignore the increasingly hostile conditions.
The dark patch ahead of them grew throughout the morning, stretching as far as they could see to the North and South. The heat waves disguised the details of it, but Karen kept moving, figuring that nothing could be worse than their current situation.
Woods, she thought eventually. The outlines of trees became prevalent. Karen felt a pang of hope in her chest, and wondered if they might find water and food in the forest. The undergrowth looked thin though, as the constant heat and lack of rainfall likely kept the plant life small.
Stephen collapsed less than a mile from the tree line. He fell forward, landing on his face, his hands never rising to slow his fall. Karen tried to catch him, but her stiff muscles couldn’t react fast enough and she grasped only air. She rolled him over and saw the whites of his eyes, their lids fluttering, as his head lolled back, limp on his neck.
“Come on, Stephen,” Karen’s voice was just above a whisper when she spoke. Her parched throat and mouth had trouble forming the words.
He didn’t respond, though his eyes stopped their spasms as she cupped his head in her hands. The woods stood ahead, a tantalizing shelter from the sweltering sun, but it felt like an impossible task to carry the child that far. She pulled the strap of the canteen over her shoulder and held the opening above her mouth, but only drops splashed on her tongue.
“Shit.” She threw the canteen to the ground beside them in disgust. Knowing they were out of water made the heat feel as if it increased ten degrees. She followed the tracks with her eyes, seeing where they cut through the forest, and noticed another path off to the right.
It appeared to be a wagon trail, but her mind felt cloudy and sluggish, and she couldn’t be certain of anything. A trail though, gave her the promise of a nearby town or city. She grabbed the boy under his shoulders and lifted him, struggling with the dead weight that his limp body created.
Without the strength to carry him in a cradle any longer, his feet dragged along the hard ground as she tried to walk toward the trail. They stumbled along for a few moments before she tripped, sending them tumbling to the ground again. She did her best to keep from crushing him during the fall and twisted in the air, but that caused her head to bounce off a rock jutting from the packed dirt.
Flashes of light burst in her vision as she struggled to remain conscience. She tried to sit up, but her body refused to function. A wet warmth ran down the side of her face. Her fingers probed at it, but they missed their mark a few times before finally coming back bloody. Her eyesight tunneled, slowly collapsing inward, as darkness took her.
Chapter 12
“I think she’s waking up.”
Karen heard a few male voices ringing in her ears, increasing in volume as she woke up. Her brain pounded inside her skull, pulsating with each beat of her heart. The skin on the side of her face felt tight from the dried, caked blood there. She tried to open her eyes, but found them crusted shut, the eyelashes caked with dust and grime.
“She’s awake all right,” said a baritone voice. It rumbled throughout the room, echoing off the unseen surfaces surrounding Karen. “Hey boss! She’s finally awake!”
Her eyes finally cracked open and she allowed them a few seconds to adjust to the light. The walls around her were comprised of stones. She looked off to her left to see metal bars between her and two men standing outside them.
What the hell?
Trying to ignore the pain in her head, she sat up and looked around. She’d been laying on a cot inside a jail cell. A crumpled blanket sat on one end of the bed. There was a hole in the ground by the back right corner that she assumed to be for relieving herself in.
“Water.” It took her three tries to speak, her raw throat and mouth aching with each attempt. “Water, please.”
The two men on the other side of the bars glared back at her in contempt. One stood well over six feet tall and had broad shoulders. Karen wondered how much fabric it took to make his clothing. The other man’s height couldn’t have been more than a hair over five feet. The two of them standing side by side would have looked comical if not for the situation Karen found herself in.
“The bitch wants some water,” the short man said. He didn’t move to get any.
“Where am I?” Karen held both of her hands to her temples, applying light pressure, trying to relieve some of the pain. “Where’s Stephen?”
“Who’s Stephen?” asked the tall man. “That the little boy you kidnapped?”
Karen had trouble following the conversation. Between her headache, thirst, and waking up in a jail, she couldn’t understand what was happening. “Kidnapped? What are you talking about? Where is he? Is he safe?”
The short man rested his hands on the handles of the pistols that hung from his hips. He looked in at her with complete disgust on his face. She wondered what she could have done that would make him so angry with her.
“He’s fine, no thanks to you.”
“Where am I?”
Neither seemed inclined to answer.
“I said where in the hell am I? What’s going on here?”
The main door to the jail, which had been slightly ajar, pushed all the way open, flooding the area in sunlight. A man’s silhouette filled the frame as he stepped through and stood beside the odd-looking duo. He had a sheriff’s star on his chest, twin pistols on his hips, and piercing blue eyes that Karen never expected to see again.
“You’re in Sheol,” Evans’ said. “And you’ll be hanging from the gallows this afternoon.”
*****
Sheol (West of Hell #3)
Sheol is the third and final book in the West of Hell trilogy.
After escaping the decimated town of Gehenna and the mighty Tartarus river, Karen finds herself trapped in a prison in the city of Sheol. Knowing that an army of the dead is marching across the desert behind her, Karen must find a way to escape the sadistic Evans, and rally the citizens of Sheol for one last stand against an enemy of biblical proportions.
Chapter 1
McCall felt the teeth clamp around his ankle and thanked whoever was listening that he always wore thick boots.
He could see Karen looking back at him over her shoulder as she struggled to stay atop the sprinting horse. She would turn back for him if she thought he could be saved so he let loose a scream, hoping it would convince her to keep going. The horse picked up its pace at the sound of his bellow, and he felt immense relief as they sped away. Or at least as much relief as he could at that moment.
The moaners descended upon him as he struggled to pull his leg from the gnawing jaws on his boot. One had pulled him to the ground but it fell away as they hit the dirt and it lay beside him, struggling to roll from its back like a turtle flipped onto its shell. McCall kicked the woman tearing at his boot and felt the satisfying crunch of bone breaking as her j
aw skewed sideways.
Hands tore at his shirt and pants, tugging against the fabric and slowing him down as he crawled back to his feet. With a blind swing, he heaved his arm around, breaking their grasp along with their fingers. He turned back to the large group as he finally pulled away, only to see dozens more clambering over the fence behind them. The entire area would be crawling with rotting, walking corpses soon, and McCall had no plan beyond getting Karen and Stephen clear.
A short, thirty-something man stumbled forward and reached for McCall’s shoulders. His teeth clacked as he chomped at the air and his black eyes narrowed as he closed in on the outlaw. McCall sidestepped and pushed the little man, or what used to be one, to the ground with ease. The full night’s sleep had him feeling refreshed and his movements were no longer sluggish and strained.
The shotgun lay on the ground a few feet in front of him, with two moaners shambling over it. A shirtless woman whose left breast had been gnawed away tripped over it and fell in front of McCall, giving him a semi-clear path to the weapon. He seized the opening, leaping over the fallen moaner and swatting away the arms reaching for him, as he bent for the gun.
He scooped it up with his left hand and immediately jabbed at the face of the nearest cannibal with the wood stock, enjoying the sight of its nose gaining a new angle. The shotgun had two shells in it, but he knew that Karen would hear the blasts if he used them, so he continued swinging it like bat.
He broke through the group and raced toward the part of the fence he’d broken for Karen’s escape. With a small leap, he hurtled the lower rail and turned back to the growing crowd of moaners. More piled into the fenced off area, all of them tripping as they did so, and gave slow chase.
Dozens more moved around the sides of the house, swarming the property in an endless parade. McCall could see the back door of the house standing ajar on the other side of the fence and knew that would give him the best chance of survival. He had no food or water and nothing but desolation to his back. If he tried to cross the desert without supplies he would succumb to the heat quickly and they would catch up to him. The house would give him temporary shelter, though he knew it would only delay the inevitable.
