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

by Brant, Jason

  “Stand by the horses and keep an eye out for any more moaners,” Karen said to the woman.

  “The what?”

  “The infected, the monsters, whatever. Just don’t let anything get too close to us!”

  “Don’t worry about that,” the woman said. “You just get him inside, and I’ll keep those things away from you.” She shifted the axe from one hand to the other, her thick forearms flexing, and moved in front of the horses.

  Karen liked this woman already. Finding another female with the same assertive, take-no-shit attitude that she possessed was an unexpected surprise. Not being constantly undermined by a man that felt emasculated would make things slightly more manageable. It also seemed as if she wasn’t just a proficient killer, but that she may even enjoy doing it.

  The other man came back with his hands empty, having deposited his gear in the wagon. He quickly dipped his head low and lifted one of McCall’s arms over it, wrapping the elbow over his shoulders. He grunted as he lifted the outlaw’s dead weight from the wooden porch, adjusting his feet to get a better stance.

  Weary of McCall’s wounded shoulder, Karen grabbed a hold of his belt on the other side and did her best to take some of the weight off the man. They hobbled over to the wagon together, grimacing and huffing as they went. James and Stephen had already climbed inside and the father didn’t look too inclined to help.

  “Get over here and help us lift him inside,” Karen said between strained breaths.

  “You don’t tell me what—”

  “Do it now, or get the hell out of the wagon.” She released her grip on the belt and helped the man turn McCall around so his back rested against the hard wood of the covered buggy.

  James stood with an exaggerated sigh and stomped over to them, hunched over because of the cloth roof above him. The disgusted look he gave Mad Dog’s blood and sweat soaked body made Karen angry beyond words. His demeanor and attitude was likely to get them all killed at the rate things were going. She’d decided to give him a piece of her mind when she heard the moans coming from their left.

  “Hurry up back there!” The woman that was standing guard ran by them, axe raised.

  “Get him inside but be careful of his shoulder” Karen said, glaring up at James. “We’re getting out of here right now.”

  Stepping away from the wagon, Karen watched as the woman went after a large, swollen man coming from a small alley beside the jail. He’d been dead for several days and his gaseous belly swayed heavily as she sank the axe into his discolored neck. His stomach popped when it hit the ground and a discolored fluid burst from it, splashing the ground and the side of the jailhouse. Karen could smell the nauseating fumes coming from it even though she stood more than twenty feet away.

  “Let’s go!” Karen ran around the wagon and jumped onto the front, grabbing the reins.

  The woman came around the other side, swinging her axe as she went, flinging bits of gore and puss from the blade. Her facial features remained set and strong, but her eyes roved around the street, constantly looking for new threats. Karen felt a pang of relief at having her with them. It seemed that lady luck had finally given them a small break.

  Karen looked through the opening behind her to see James and the other man pulling McCall’s legs into the wagon, settling him on the floor. She didn’t wait for either of them to take a seat before turning back and shouting at the horses. The street didn’t have enough space for them to turn around in, so she steered them down a road to their right, hoping to circle around the block.

  They moved forward at a quick clip, the horses not quite running. Karen knew that they couldn’t run these animals to death as she had the horse in the desert. They needed to survive for several days, possibly weeks. If either of them died, the other wouldn’t be able to pull the wagon by itself. If their party had to walk north, they wouldn’t be able to do it because of McCall. Karen would never leave him behind, so she kept the horses trotting at a moderate pace.

  Several infected wandered the street in a random pattern, staggering along the porches of houses, or pounding on their doors. Gunfire erupted from all around them. Karen watched people shooting out of their windows and open doorways. Though it was unlikely that anyone who didn’t escape the city would survive, she hoped that they had given these people a fighting chance. A chance that her friends and neighbors in Gehenna never had.

  A moaner stepped in front of the horses as they turned the next corner and was crushed under the heavy hooves of the horses and the rolling wheels of the wagon. Even with a crushed ribcage and shattered legs, the creature crawled after them as they thundered down the street. Another corpse shambled forward, arms outstretched, mouth slacked. The woman sitting to Karen’s right cut it down with a quick swipe of her axe.

  “What’s your name?” Karen asked.

  “Jane.” She lopped off the arm of a decrepit elderly woman that had stumbled too close.

  “You’re pretty deadly with that axe,” Karen said. She snapped the reins again, forcing the horses to pick up their pace.

  “Lots of practice.”

  “The other man back there – what’s his name?”

  “Walter.” The woman kept her answers clipped as she focused on keeping them safe.

  Karen wanted to work their way back to the main street, but she couldn’t find a connecting alley or road that didn’t have a group of the dead cluttering it. She settled for riding down a parallel street, and hoping that Gary had been able to get back to his people. While that would mean more mouths to feed, it also meant more guns and ammunition as they tried to flee.

  A building exploded into flames fifty yards ahead of them. Screams came from somewhere inside as a dozen people spilled out of the front door, trying to escape the fire. Someone jumped out of the front window, crashing through the glass, engulfed in yellow flames. The person got up and ran into the road, staggering like a drunk as the fire consumed them.

  None of the others tried to help him. They continued screaming and waving their firearms around in chaotic fashion. The pandemonium caused by the explosion and its aftermath brought a massive horde of the dead from around the corner of the building. Dozens of them came out of seemingly nowhere, and fell upon the confused people like a tidal wave.

  “Damn!” Jane anticipated what Karen was about to do and grabbed hold of the railing in front of them.

  “Hold on!” Karen jerked on the reins, slowing the horses down as fast as they could and guided them to the right.

  The animals whined as they tried to turn and their hooves slid in the powdery dirt. James and Walter hollered in protest as they were jostled around in the back of the wagon. Karen’s momentum threatened to throw her from the bench she sat on, forcing her to release the leather straps and grab the seat. The wagon teetered on two wheels, flirting with the point of no return, when the horses straightened out.

  The people that ran from the burning house were enveloped by a sea of moaners. They never had a chance. Karen watched as their flesh and innards were shredded and strewn about. The cannibals filled the street, climbing over each other to get at the charring meat. Those that couldn’t get close to the survivors changed course and headed for the wagon.

  Karen angled the horses to a narrow alley that ran between two houses, one of which had large flames flickering out of its first story windows. The horses cried out when they saw the massive group of moaners and accelerated into the alley faster than Karen wanted. Several bodies lay across the ground, blocking their path, trampled under hoof.

  The wagon jounced over the mounds of emaciated skin and bones. Stephen cried out from somewhere in the back and James let loose a string of curses. Karen prayed the wheels would hold up under this kind of a beating, knowing that they hadn’t been designed for such abuse. She could hear the wood creaking underneath them, even with the sounds of screams drowning out almost everything else.

  A large flame burst through one of the windows as they rode past and startled the horse on
the left. It staggered sideways, slamming against its partner, throwing both of them off balance. The wagon veered right and crashed into the outer wall of the house, bringing it to a jarring stop.

  Karen flew forward, clearing the gap between her and the horses before she could blink. She landed atop the leftmost horse with a thud and winced as her ribs smashed against her lungs. Her breath came in short bursts as she struggled into a seated position on the animal’s back. The smell of singed hair burned at her nostrils and she looked down to see the mane on the horse’s neck smoldering.

  She swiped at it quickly, dampening the hot ends. The horses struggled against each other as they tried to push away from the wall they leaned against. Karen pushed her hand between their necks and tried to guide the one she sat upon to the left, hoping they wouldn’t crush her between them. After several seconds of struggling she finally managed to push its head toward the center of the alley.

  James let out a shrill scream from behind her. She spun around to see two moaners climbing into the back of the wagon.

  Chapter 17

  Shrieks of pain pulled McCall from the darkness.

  He struggled to open his eyes, bewildered at the commotion. Someone bellowed beside him, but he couldn’t make out who it was, or what they said. Someone else yelled a command or a warning. His addled mind couldn’t make sense of anything. He struggled to open his eyelids, feeling the congealed grime of dust and tears locking them in place. Then he heard the moan, and it was close.

  McCall forced his eyes open and saw white fabric above him. A line of blood sprayed against it, staining it red. He turned his head with what felt like a monumental effort and looked down the left side of his body. Two moaners were climbing into a wagon that he didn’t even realize he was in. One of them had a mouthful of muscle that it had torn from James’ upper arm. The father was the one squealing in agony.

  The other man that had followed McCall to the jailhouse punched the creature in the face, sending it tumbling out of the open end of the wagon. The other moaner latched on to his shoulders and tried to pull him into its chomping teeth. Its black eyes showed a dull stupidity that McCall had become accustomed to, even if he couldn’t get used to their color.

  The man fell backward, pulling the creature down with him. They landed on McCall’s shot leg, sending white hot bolts of pain up and down his body. He tried to sit up, hoping to help, but his limbs refused to cooperate. His wounded shoulder ached when he attempted to move it, and he quickly wondered if he’d lost the use of it. Just lifting his head felt like an impossible task.

  “Walter! I’m coming!”

  Jane crawled into the wagon above McCall, axe in hand, and shimmied her way to the back. The axe blade swung precariously close to Mad Dog’s face, making him wince in anticipation of an inadvertent slice. She took another step, but her foot caught on the catatonic Stephen and she fell forward, landing on James lap.

  The moaner snapped at Walter’s face again, missing by inches. The blood covering its neck and arms made it difficult for Walter to get a hold of it or push it away. His hand slid over its slick skin again and it moved even closer, biting at his nose.

  James’ screeches filled the wagon with an ear-piercing intensity. McCall pushed through the pain and rigor in his muscles, forcing his good hand to reach down to his holster. He felt the notched wood with his fingers, relishing the texture of it in his hand. His arm shook uncontrollably as he tried to aim at the moaner’s head. The end of the barrel wavered as he squinted one eye shut and focused what remained of his depleted strength, trying to line the sight with the creature’s forehead.

  He slowly squeezed the trigger, holding his breath, and almost dropped the gun when its kick sent shockwaves up his arm. The top half of the dead man’s head evaporated, spraying the back of the wagon with red droplets. McCall’s arm gave out and fell back to his side, the Peacemaker thudding against the wood floor. He let out a long, ragged sigh as he fought against the pulsing pain in his leg and shoulder.

  Walter threw the body out of the back of the wagon and sat up, panting as he looked around at everyone else. He settled his harried gaze on McCall, looking at him in disbelief. “Jesus Christ! That was too damn close.”

  “I think Jesus sat this one out,” McCall said. He turned his head toward James and looked at the wound on his arm. It was a deep, ragged tear that bled profusely. He would turn into one of them within a few minutes.

  “McCall? You’re awake?” Karen asked from above him.

  “Barely. Get us the hell out of here.”

  Karen let out a cry to start the horses and the wagon hitched as it jerked forward. McCall kept staring at James, who met his eyes briefly before looking away. Tears coursed down his cheeks and his lips quivered as he tried to speak.

  “There isn’t anything you can do?” His voice was barely above a whisper, making it hard to hear him over the madness surrounding them.

  McCall gave his head a quick shake, never breaking eye contact. James seemed unstable to him, and he feared the man would do something stupid now that he knew his death was imminent. There wasn’t much McCall could do about it in his current state, but he hoped Jane would be able to help out. She’d pushed herself away from him and stood, hunched over, by the front of the wagon. Her axe rested in both hands, as if she was prepared to use it at any moment.

  James held his wounded arm with his good hand and inspected the floor. He winced when the wagon hit a large bump, probably another body, and a fresh set of tears welled in his eyes. Stephen sat in stone silence, staring off into space as he had since the death of his brother and mother. The boy’s father was about to die, leaving him without a family, and McCall couldn’t be certain that the kid even understood what was happening around him.

  The wagon veered left, sending McCall sliding across the floor. His head swam as he lay there and his vision swirled as he fought against unconsciousness. He understood that his wounds lowered the odds of survival to almost nothing, but he figured his chances would drop to zero if he passed out again. Everyone else couldn’t keep defending him without endangering themselves.

  Karen snapped at the horses and their speed increased again. Though he stared up at the cloth top of the wagon, McCall could imagine what chaos surrounded them in the streets. Dozens of gunshots came from all directions. Screams and cries echoed back to them as people were being eaten alive. The crackling of burning wood and the smell of burnt powder wafted through the air.

  “I’m sorry, son.” James reached out and touched his boy’s cheek.

  The child acknowledged the caress, to McCall’s surprise, and looked over at his father. His face betrayed no emotion, but it at least signified some kind of awareness. The father and son looked at each for a few moments before James stood, bent over at the waist, and gave Stephen a hug with his good arm. The child didn’t return the embrace.

  “You take care of him,” James shouted at Jane. He looked down at McCall then. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid with my boy.”

  McCall didn’t know what to say so he settled for another nod. The atrocities he’d seen lately had taken a toll on his ability to emote as he normally would have. Not that he had been one for showing his soft side, anyway.

  “I’ll keep him in line, brother,” Jane said, taking the burden off of McCall. She still held her axe at the ready, and the intensity on her face never waned.

  Mad Dog hadn’t realized that they were brother and sister, though he could see the resemblance now that he knew. He had assumed the fierce stance she’d taken had been to protect them from James’ infection, but now he thought it was because she’d just lost her brother. His appreciation for her toughness and calm demeanor increased tenfold.

  The wounded father stood in place for a moment, as if gathering his courage, before he jumped from the back of the wagon. Though he had been unimpressed with the man, McCall appreciated the way he’d embraced his own death.

  Jane watched out of the open end of the ca
rriage for a moment before kneeling down beside Stephen. She gave him a quick embrace and whispered something into his ear that McCall couldn’t make out. The child didn’t respond to her, looking at the floor instead, his silence ever present. His aunt turned and inspected Mad Dog, checking the wound on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” McCall said.

  “Me too,” Jane replied, her voice cracking. “I can’t make sense of any of this.”

  She stood then and went to the front of the wagon, stepping through the opening. Karen spoke to her but their voices were muffled by the running horses and random gunfire. McCall rested his head against the floor and took a deep breath. His life was now in their hands, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. The thought of relying on someone else bugged the hell out of him. If he could trust his survival with anyone, however, he knew it would be Karen.

  Walter rummaged through one of the blankets resting by McCall’s feet and pulled out the pump-action shotgun. He loaded a handful of shells into it and took a knee by the back of the wagon. His shoulders slumped when he looked through the opening.

  “Don’t stop,” he yelled. “The whole damn town is coming up behind us, and they ain’t happy!”

  Karen replied with another snap of the reins. McCall struggled to lift his head and see what was coming for them. He felt dizzy as he did so and his vision tunneled. Everything appeared far away, but he managed to follow Walter’s gaze.

  Hundreds of moaners stumbled after them, down the main street of Sheol. Most of them were fresh corpses with large, seeping wounds or entire limbs missing. They clogged the road, falling over each other, leaving trails of blood and gore in their wake. They swarmed like ants, heedless of their surroundings, devouring everything in sight. People shot out of windows at them, stupidly diverting the attention of some. Most chased the wagon.