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

by Brant, Jason

  Karen stared back at him for several seconds. She straightened her back, rolling her shoulders. “Ok,” she said simply. “I’m sorr—”

  “Be sorry later – run now!” McCall grabbed her hand and ran further down the road, vaulting a disemboweled body without breaking stride. A shrill scream came from their right. McCall glanced down an alley and saw a woman running toward them only to trip over the top half of a torso. The large body was animated, much to her surprise by the look she gave it, and it sunk its teeth into her knee.

  They kept moving. McCall didn’t want to stop for anything until they reached the jail. If his memory served him well, it would only be another block or two ahead. The corner ahead had less moaners wandering around it and McCall only had to kick one of them out of the way to turn to the next street.

  The jail stood a hundred feet ahead, its front door ajar just as he’d left it. The road hadn’t been overrun yet and was fairly quiet compared to what they had just come from. McCall slowed his pace, trying to conserve his energy as best he could. Karen kept quiet as they closed in on their destination, but she looked a bit more focused than she had a few minutes prior.

  Evans stepped out of the jailhouse and walked to the middle of the street, turning to face them. “Welcome to Hell.” He gave them a venomous smile that showed too many teeth. The flames from the hanging lanterns danced across his face. “I’m so glad you made it this far.”

  McCall stopped a dozen paces away, pulling Karen directly behind him and out of Evans direct line of fire. He remembered from the train that Evans moved like lightening, his quick draw speed a thing of legend. Though McCall knew better than to believe outrageous claims, his previous encounter with Evans told him that this one was most likely true.

  If Evans took him down, he hoped his body would protect Karen long enough for her to get a shot off. “I was hoping you hadn’t left town, Evans. I wanted to take care of you myself.”

  “Now what?” Karen whispered in his ear.

  He gave his head a microscopic shake, hoping that Karen would know to keep quiet.

  “How could I miss the fall of the great Sheol?” Evans asked. “I’ve been twisting these people’s minds, or should I say souls, for far too long now to leave before I received the fruits of my labor.”

  McCall dropped the shotgun and let his right hand hover above the pistol secured on his hip. He prepared himself mentally for the pain that would come at any moment. There would be no chance for him to draw faster than Evans, but he hoped that he could still get a round off after being shot. Fear threatened to unsteady his hands, so he focused on his breathing, trying to blot out any tendrils of panic that touched his mind.

  “I’m going to make sure you choke on that fruit – just like I did your old man,” McCall said. He spit on the ground in front of him, his eyes never leaving Evans. A woman cried in pain from somewhere further down the street.

  Evans’ smile faltered. His hand lowered, halving the distance between it and his holstered gun. “Recognize this?”

  McCall glanced at the pistol for a microsecond, unsure if Evans was trying to distract him, and recognized the notched grip instantly. Evans only had one gun, as his other holster remained empty, and it was McCall’s famous Peacemaker. He would have recognized his lucky charm anywhere. Seeing it resting just below Evans’ hand made McCall’s blood boil.

  “I’ll be taking that back.”

  “While I appreciate this little back and forth, I’m afraid that time is running out here. Our little cannibal friends are coming a little too close for comfort,” Evans said. The sick smile returned.

  McCall made his play, hoping to catch Evans off guard. He moved faster than he ever had, pulling his pistol free and getting the hammer cocked in an instant. It wasn’t enough. Evans put two bullets in him before McCall could fire off a shot. His right leg and left shoulder exploded in agony.

  He fell backward, landing on top of Karen and pinning her to the ground. Trying to focus in spite of the pain, McCall aimed as best he could and shot once, feeling a rush of triumph when blood burst from Evans’ forearm. Red immediately soaked through his shirt and his hand contorted at an odd angle. The Peacemaker fell from his mangled and useless fingers.

  Karen pushed her way out from under McCall, causing another wave of pain to run up his shot leg. The pump-action shotgun was wedged under his ass and he tried to roll off it to give her access, but his lower body didn’t want to comply. She grabbed the end of the barrel and pulled it out, sliding him across the dirt as she did.

  Evans howled in rage, clutching at his ruined forearm with his good hand. “You son of a bitch!”

  “Oh shit,” Karen said, looking down at McCall.

  He could see the panic in her eyes and looked down at his shoulder, hoping the wound wouldn’t appear as bad as her expression made it out to be. A large swath of his shirt had been torn away, exposing a large, ragged hole in his skin. He tried to rotate his shoulder and bit back a scream as the joint refused to work. He could feel the hot bullet lodged in the meat of his muscle and fought a wave of nausea that washed over him as he shifted his weight.

  Karen turned on Evans, her face scrunching in anger and hatred. The doubt and despair she’d shown early had evaporated. She racked the slide of the shotgun, ejecting a spent shell from the chamber. “Time to die, you sack of shit.”

  McCall lifted his head off the ground, grunting as he did so, and watched Karen advance on Evans, raising the shotgun to her shoulder. Evans stopped screaming when he saw her coming. A sneer spread across his sweat-covered face and he laughed as he stared back at her.

  “Fuck you,” Karen said, and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  McCall swore at himself, furious that he hadn’t kept track of how many shots she had left. He tried to raise his own gun, but his body didn’t respond. His right arm came up a few inches and then fell back to the ground. The mounting injuries had turned him into nothing more than a spectator during the final endgame.

  Evans sneer turned into a radiant grin. “No, fuck you!” He reached down and picked up the pistol with his left hand, fumbling to get it positioned in his palm correctly.

  McCall could see that Evans didn’t use his left hand for much of anything as he looked clumsy and awkward when trying to work the hammer with his thumb. He finally got it pulled back and raised the pistol up, aiming it at Karen. The end of the barrel wavered though, and he seemed unsure of his ability to hit anything.

  Karen threw the empty shotgun at him and it connected with his gun arm, smashing against his knuckles with a crunch. The pistol flew from his grip, skidding to a stop on the ground by the door of the jailhouse. She quickly reached down and grabbed the double barrel at her feet while Evans cried out, looking at his now empty and bruised left hand.

  “There’s nothing in it!” McCall called out to her, knowing that he’d already used both of the shells in the gun.

  “I know,” she said over her shoulder without looking back. She grabbed the barrels in both hands, lifting the wood stock parallel to her upper body like she held a baseball bat, and charged Evans.

  Chapter 12

  Karen let out a battle cry as she ran at the maniac in front of her.

  Evans had stepped toward the Peacemaker, but he stopped and looked over when he heard her scream. She swung the gun at his head, but he dodged it with a lithe step backward. Even with his devastated arm and bruised hand he moved with a grace and speed that took Karen off guard.

  She pivoted at the waist and brought the gun around in a wide arc. Evans tried to move out of the blow’s path, but he didn’t step far enough away and the stock struck his shoulder. The gun reverberated in her hands, giving Karen a small feeling of satisfaction.

  Instead of recoiling from the strike, Evans lashed out and punched Karen in the jaw with his functioning hand. Her vision swirled in front of her as if she’d just spun in a circle. Her equilibrium skewed, and she staggered like a drunk as she tried to stay on h
er feet.

  Evans shook his hand in the air, wincing from the punch he’d landed. His brief pause gave Karen the time she needed to recover. Her head stopped spinning after a few seconds and her dizziness abated a bit. She worked her jaw, trying to make sure it still functioned. Though it moved correctly, pain ran in waves from her chin, giving her a pulsating headache.

  “That hurt, bitch?” Evans asked.

  “It wasn’t too bad, limp dick.” She lunged forward, swinging the shotgun low, snarling as she went.

  The wood connected with the side of Evans’ thigh, nearly buckling his leg. He grabbed the shotgun before she could pull it away, and jerked her forward. Karen didn’t want to let go of her only weapon so she held it tight as she was pulled into Evans. He drove his forehead into hers as she came, sending her crumpling to the ground, semi-conscious.

  She looked up through her hazy vision and saw him shaking his head. Though she’d received the worst of the head butt, he hadn’t gone unfazed. He swayed as he stood there and had to take a step back, his good arm waving in the air as he maintained his balance. The shotgun lay on the ground between them, dropped from the massive blow.

  Karen’s lips felt numb. She pushed herself to a seated position, but she couldn’t get to her feet. A line of blood ran from her hairline and down the center of her face, dripping from the tip of her nose. She wanted to wipe it away, but her arm felt weighted and the effort to move it enormous.

  Evans regained his composure and grinned down at her again. “You put up a pretty good fight, for a woman.”

  Karen wanted to kick him in the crotch for that remark, but her legs felt too rubbery to stand. She settled with extending her middle finger instead. Even with all the death and destruction surrounding her, being denigrated because of her sex pissed her off. Her stubbornness knew no bounds.

  “That isn’t very ladylike,” Evans said. He pulled a tiny knife free from an unseen holster behind his back. “Maybe we should just remove that finger, what do you think?” A small wince flashed across his face as he used his bruised hand.

  A gunshot exploded from behind Karen. A tiny spot on the front of Evans’ shirt turned a deep red. The spot blossomed as the surrounding cloth soaked through with blood, while Evans looked down at it in shock. Karen looked back over her shoulder to see McCall in a seated position by the door to the jailhouse, the Peacemaker in his hand.

  “Told you I’d be taking this back,” he said. His voice had grown weak. He fell back, leaning against the door frame, the arm holding the pistol falling into his lap.

  Karen turned back to Evans to see him staggering backward, clutching at the front of his shirt. He looked up at her in panic, his face stricken and pale. “What?”

  “Looks like you’re dead, asshole,” Karen said. She saw movement behind Evans and leaned over, trying to see what it was.

  A pair of hands wrapped around Evans’ face and pulled him backward into a waiting maw. Blackened lips parted and gnarly teeth tore into his cheek, shredding his skin. He fell back on top of a moaner, squealing and flailing as he went. He tried to roll from its grasp, but his movements looked weak and he couldn’t pry the moaner’s hands away with only one good arm.

  Another creature, this one covered in buzzing flies and split, sun-dried flesh, stumbled around the corner of the jail and went for Evans’ legs. His screams hit ear-splitting notes as they tore at him. Spasms ran through his limbs, sending spurts of blood flying in through the air.

  Karen crawled backwards on her hands and feet, moving toward the door of the jail. Two more moaners came from across the street, heading straight for Evans. His screams began attracting a crowd and Karen figured they didn’t have long before the entire street would be flooded with the infected.

  A long, feeble groan came from behind her and she turned to see the walking corpse of a young boy. Compared to the others that had fallen upon Sheol, the boy’s body looked freshly converted. A single, small bite mark on his hand told the story of his demise. His small frame and smooth face reminded Karen of Stephen.

  The child went for McCall, snarling and reaching out with tiny hands. Mad Dog didn’t move. His eyes had rolled back in his head and his body rested in the doorway, relaxed and still. Karen stumbled to her feet and grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt just as his little fingers touched McCall’s cheek. She spun the dead child around and threw him into the street.

  Without waiting for more company to arrive, Karen stepped over McCall’s outstretched legs and into the open door of the jail. She grabbed him under his armpits and tried to pull him inside, but his dead weight didn’t budge. Taking a deep breath, she squatted down and wrapped her arms around his chest, clasping her hands together.

  She straightened her legs, sliding him several inches inside before having to stop and repeat the process again. Evans’ screams came to an abrupt stop outside and Karen chanced a quick peek into the street to see what was happening. At least six more moaners hovered around his body, munching on different sections. A charred and still smoldering man saw her head poke through the doorway and turned away from Evans.

  When it stood up Karen could see that its clothing and skin had been melted together by some intense fire. A large axe was buried in its stomach, the handle knocking against its left leg as it walked.

  Karen hopped behind McCall again and worked at pulling him inside the doorway. The moaner closed the distance faster than she thought it would and she had to stop again, picking up the Peacemaker that hung from McCall’s hand. She took careful aim and put a bullet between its eyes. The gunshot echoed through the street, catching the attention of every infected in the vicinity.

  “Shit,” Karen grumbled under her breath.

  She dropped the pistol inside the doorway and bent down, picking up McCall’s legs. His boot spurs caught on her dress, adding even more tears to the already destroyed fabric. She pushed him inside the frame of the door, wincing when she saw the amount of blood that ran down his right leg from the bullet wound.

  With her hands on his calves she continued to turn his body around and gave it a final tug, pulling it all the way into the building. She jumped over him and threw the door shut just as another moaner stepped into the frame. The door bounced off the creature’s face and swung back open. Karen threw her shoulder into it and pushed it back into place. A thick plank stood against the wall on her right. She picked it up and pushed it against the door, sliding it down into two hooks that rested on either side of the entrance.

  Knocks and pounds came against the entrance, reminding her of being barricaded in Ellis’ tavern, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. She looked around the room, inspecting the setup McCall had prepared. Dozens of guns and hundreds, possibly thousands, of rounds of ammunition sat on two desks that had been pushed under the front windows.

  A backdoor sat in the rear wall of the building with a chair shoved underneath the handle, locking it in place. All of the cell doors were open with a pistol and a handful of bullets placed on each cot. A couple of bottles of booze, a large bowl of water, and a bag of food sat outside the cells against the left wall. McCall had thoroughly stocked the jail – beyond what Karen had expected.

  She turned back to him and could see tiny pools of blood forming under his shoulder and leg. After fetching a bottle of some kind of clear alcohol, Karen pulled McCall’s limp body a little further into the room so she could straighten his legs out. She tore his shirt open and looked at the wound on his shoulder, as that seemed to be bleeding the fastest.

  The hole in his skin wasn’t much larger than her thumb, and the bleeding wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, but she couldn’t find an exit wound on the back of his shoulder. The bullet hadn’t gone all the way through and still sat somewhere in the muscle, as did a piece of his shirt judging from the swath of it that was missing.

  “Damn,” Karen said to herself. She knew that infection would set in if she didn’t get the bullet and cloth out of him soon. Unfortunately for both them
, she had never done anything remotely close to this before. “You’re going to hate me, you poor bastard.”

  She rummaged through the desks, trying to find a knife and some kind of pliers. The second desk held a small, double-sided knife with a bone handle, but she couldn’t find anything to actually pull the bullet out with. Digging around inside of McCall with her fingers wasn’t something she looked forward to.

  After pouring some of the water over her hands, she followed it with the alcohol, rubbing it into her skin and trying to clear some of the grime from her fingers. She did the same with the knife and then knelt beside McCall, trying to remain calm. The empty sheath the knife had been in would work well as a brace between his teeth, so she jammed it in there.

  “Sorry, big guy,” she said before pouring the clear booze over the wound on his shoulder.

  His eyelids popped open and a muffled scream burst from his mouth. He tried to sit up but Karen pushed against his chest, keeping him on the floor. He looked at her in confusion, his eyes scanning her face and the area around her.

  “Stay down,” Karen said, leaning over him. “We’re in the jail and we’re safe.”

  He spit the sheath out of his mouth and tilted his head so he could see the front the door. “How long have I been out?”

  “Just a few minutes,” she said. “I had trouble getting your fat ass inside though. A couple of moaners were trying to take a bite out of it.”

  “Do you ever stop flapping your lips?”

  “Usually men like when my lips are working,” Karen said. She kept him talking as she prodded at his shoulder, hoping to feel the bullet somewhere just under the skin.

  A hiss escaped him and he tried to push her hands away with his good arm. “What the hell are you doing?”