The Last Resurrectionist: Novella Series - Part One

by Jack Hartford

  “The plant stuff? I didn’t really spend time looking,” Lincoln said.

  “Technically a fungus,” Darwin said, taking a breath.

  Lincoln thought he saw a sliver of sadness on Darwin’s face, but the doctor moved in to properly examine the boy. He removed the boy’s shirt and pants, looking all over. He first checked the feet before moving around in a clockwise fashion, adjusting and lifting what he needed to see every unlit corner.

  “Maybe it’s still inside…” he muttered under his breath.

  Lincoln looked away. Darwin picked up the metal pick he’d used on the father’s body and a small surgical knife. Lincoln could hear the faint sound of metal scraping skin, the soft crackling sound of flesh tearing apart. The aural experience itself was almost too much to bear.

  Darwin must have noticed Lincoln wasn’t watching.

  “You don’t have to stay for this,” Darwin said.

  “I know,” Lincoln said, turning just enough to see the doctor in his peripheral vision. “Just waiting for my payment.”

  “Oh.” Darwin quickly put his tools down. “Of course.”

  As Darwin went back to his safe, Lincoln allowed his gaze to wander back to the dead boy. His stomach was cut open but it wasn’t messy. It looked simply like a cut on parchment paper. Clean and dry.

  “Here.”

  Darwin was waiting with the coins. Lincoln put his hand out and watched each round piece of metal drop into his palm, feeling the weight of each one adding on. His hand became heavier and heavier but he felt his head get lighter. Darwin said something else but it was muffled in Lincoln’s ears. He fumbled his way to the door, feeling the urgent need to leave.

  Lincoln left the office feeling as though he were a sigh exiting the mouth of the building - a breath held far too long. The winter air refreshed his mind and body. He started hearing clearly again.

  He shook off the near collapse and whistled for Coda. She trotted around the corner from the stable and right up to Lincoln. They rode out to the edge of the city first, favoring a long route back home tonight. They passed a few cottages on the outskirts of town, all of them completely dark.

  Coda brought them to her stable by the house. Lincoln dismounted and brought a bucket of water over for her to drink. He then stared at the woods behind their house. It wasn’t nearly as thick as the large forest to the west, though the trees were taller here. He said goodnight to Coda and went inside.

  He was sore enough to avoid sleeping at the table again.

  He went into the bedroom, undressed, and slipped in quietly next to Mara.

  He kept his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

  He thought of the dead boy.

  He stared at the ceiling.

  He thought of the money he’d made from him.

  He stared at the ceiling.

  He thought of the dead boy.

  He woke from a knocking at the door. Not Ruth’s bedroom door this time, but the front door. Someone was there at the front door.

  Mara was drinking tea in the kitchen. She quickly looked at Lincoln, urging him to do something. Lincoln threw off the blankets. Mara stood up slowly.

  “I’ll get her,” Lincoln whispered, taking the key off the end table and rushing to Ruth’s room. Mara walked to the front door, still watching Lincoln.

  Another few knocks, louder.

  Lincoln fumbled with the key. Mara had her hand on the front door handle, waiting for him. Finally, Lincoln unlocked Ruth’s door and rushed in, closing the door quietly behind him. Mara opened the front door to a man in a sheriff’s uniform. It was Ford.

  Lincoln crept to Ruth’s bed in the dark as she was opening her eyes.

  “Sshh,” he whispered. “It’s okay, honey. We just need to be very quiet okay. There’s someone at the door and we have to hide.”

  Ruth blinked her eyes and sat up. She didn’t say anything

  When the door opened and Ford saw Mara standing there, he immediately looked at the ground.

  “Mara, sorry” he said. “I was hopin’ Lincoln was around.” He glanced back up at her.

  “He’s already out,” Mara said, stone-faced. “I don’t remember where, sorry.”

  “No issue,” Ford said, stepping back. “We were just notifyin’ everyone around town that we’ve discovered some recently defiled graves at the cemeteries and a few reports of stolen items. ”

  He instinctively looked beyond Mara, scanning the inside of her house before continuing.

  “Ugh, I can’t believe people are still doing that,” Mara said, furrowing her brow.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about but if you see anything or anyone out of the ordinary, would ya let us know?”

  “Of course.” Her fingers fidgeted with her ring. “And I’ll mention it to Lincoln.”

  Lincoln tried to make out the words but only recognized that it was Ford’s voice. Ruth sniffed and then sniffed again. Lincoln saw her head tilt back and her mouth open, preparing for a sneeze. Without hesitation he swung an arm around her head and pulled her into his stomach, gathering up the blankets in one swoop. She sneezed into him, the sound almost completely muffled.

  Ford eyed Mara’s ring.

  “I heard about that,” he said, pointing. “He’s okay I s’pose.” Ford grinned.

  Ruth tried to pull her head out of Lincoln’s grasp. Something was wrong. He could feel her trying to yell and cry. Maybe he’d hurt her when he’d blocked the sneeze.

  Mara couldn’t hold back a sigh. “Ford, I don’t want to pretend about anything. We don’t have to make jokes.”

  Ford’s face fell into a sneer. “Fine. Just tryin’ to be civil.” He stepped back further, glancing at the stable.

  “He didn’t take the horse?” Ford asked, frowning.

  Mara froze for a second. “He must have left it for me. He knew I had errands. We only have one horse.”

  Lincoln squeezed Ruth harder. She was flailing her arms now, hitting him on his chest and face. He picked her up so she couldn’t make noise by hitting her dresser or headboard. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he knew she couldn’t hear him.

  The door opened. Mara walked in.

  “He’s gone,” she said.

  Lincoln didn’t let go.

  “How far is he?” Lincoln asked.

  “You’re hurting her. Let her go.” Mara came closer but Lincoln swung away.

  “Check the window,” he whispered. “Please.”

  Mara rushed to the window.

  “He’s completely gone,” she said. “His horse is gone.”

  Lincoln let go of Ruth, letting her flop onto the bed. She was sucking in air, totally silent for several seconds, before she finally let out her cries.

  Her nose was bloody.

  Lincoln felt a shiver. “Oh no, I’m sorry.” He reached out to hold her but she swung her arms everywhere, smacking his face. She twisted and writhed away, falling off the bed.

  “Dammit.” Lincoln’s arms were numb and his face was shaking.

  Mara ran to the other side, but Ruth wouldn’t let her come near either.

  “What did you do?”

  “What was I supposed to do?” Lincoln closed the door, still worried about her screams. “I didn’t… He could have heard her.”

  Mara fought through Ruth’s flailing arms and picked her up.

  “I know what could have happened, Lincoln,” she said, walking out of the room. “It’s not something I’m allowed to forget.”

  Mara paced through the house, humming gently to her crying daughter.

  “Get me a wet cloth, please,” she said.

  Lincoln wetted a cloth and followed behind Mara as she paced. He patted Ruth’s nose, smearing blood as they kept moving.

  “Let me do it,” Mara snapped, grabbing the cloth and sitting down at the kitchen table with Ruth on her lap. Lingering shudders passed through Ruth’s chest as she tried to regain her breath.

  Lincoln slammed a fist on the wall and grabbed his coat. He
went into the brisk air, crunching through the thin layer of snow on the ground. He looked at Coda in the stable. Sorry girl, you’ll have to stay here.

  He was going to have to cover his alibi. Lincoln began the long walk to the clockmaker’s shop. He knew which route to take to be unseen.

  It was a forty minute walk but Lincoln used it to calm his mind, process his thoughts. Even when he arrived at the shop, entering through the back door, his mind didn’t waver from its task. His hands were on autopilot, checking the last set of guns with only the dim work lamp. He left the front room lanterns unlit in case anyone had passed by the shop recently. To anyone besides Mara and Ruth, Lincoln could have been working in the shop for a few hours now.

  He soon found himself contemplating once again, the sabotage of the guns. Maybe I could just take one for myself. I’ve never really thought of protecting myself if I get caught - just that I shouldn’t get caught.

  Another idea quickly dashed. They definitely knew the exact count of the shipment. Ford even warned against missing guns. The work was done but Lincoln found himself still sitting there, battering his brain for ideas. What kind of ideas, he wasn’t sure. Safety. Power. Easy money.

  He looked over his shoulder at Teddy’s steel vault. That one’s easy money. And he’s not even using it. Lincoln had never been more tempted. He never saw Teddy count it so it’s possible he could skim just a bit of it unnoticed. Yet, Lincoln felt that pang of guilt - without even acting on his impulse.

  Lincoln sighed and closed the gun crate. For now, he was going to stick with the hard money.

  The tiniest layer of frost crackled under his footsteps. Lincoln wasn’t often around the cemeteries without his horse. She carried his tools and was useful for a quick getaway. Even if a galloping horse drew a lot of attention, Lincoln would be hard to identify moving at that pace. And Coda was pitch black at night, as many horses were.

  But here he was, on his own two feet, creeping next to the perimeter bushes. He hadn’t planned it, but Lincoln had felt obligated to check his work again, now that he knew Ford had found out.

  The moon was covered in clouds and Lincoln had not yet felt confident enough to light his lantern. The path was dark but he knew enough of it to ease his way around the fence and past the utility shed. There were no other lights to be seen beside the single lamppost at the front entrance.

  The resurrectionist slinked his way through a gap in the fence and crept toward the Ganter graves. He found them shortly, and after a final scan of the area, lit his lantern. The bright glow suddenly washed over the graves and their headstones, too powerful to see clearly. After a second, the flame dimmed and Lincoln’s eyes adjusted.

  The dirt was smooth. Lincoln checked the would-be edges, tracing them with his hand. It wasn’t easy to spot anything abnormal. Not unless someone had specifically looked for it at this exact grave.

  But just one grave farther down, Lincoln couldn’t believe his eyes. The soil was upended, ripped up without a care. Even part of a casket was still showing, though it looked like it was meant to be covered up. And the next grave had the same treatment.

  Neither of those were his work. No wonder Ford’s gone sniffing. But who else-

  Something hit the ground. It sounded like it was only a few yards away.

  Lincoln doused his lantern and saw that the moon had come back out from behind the clouds. He could see enough to move toward the sound and avoid tripping over a headstone. He heard the slightest crunch of dirt. Whoever it was, they already knew he was here. There was no sense in hiding anymore.

  “Who’s there?” Lincoln called out. He saw something shift behind an angel statue. He seized the opportunity and jumped over the headstone in front of him. A man was crouched down to the ground.

  “Get up,” Lincoln said.

  The man stood up.

  “Lincoln,” he said.

  His bearded face was gaunt, wearing clothes like rags.

  “Putnam?” Lincoln exhaled. “What are you - I thought you quit last year?”

  Roger Putnam stepped forward, revealing a revolver in his right hand.

  “I thought you did, too,” he said.

  Lincoln’s eyes traveled to the gun. That’s the same as -

  “Where did you get that revolver?” he asked.

  Putnam lifted the gun up, the barrel pointing at Lincoln.

  “What does it matter?” Putnam asked.

  “Did you get it from Theodore’s shop?” Lincoln kept his eyes fixed on Putnam’s gun hand, watching every twitch.

  Putnam frowned before answering. “No,” he said. “I got it off a boat.”

  Lincoln remembered the boat he saw on the river bank. The one Jag and his men were unloading. That could be it.

  “Jag’s shipment?” Lincoln asked.

  The moon went behind the clouds again. Lincoln wished he hadn’t doused his lantern. With the moon gone, Putnam and his gun were only smudges in the void.

  “How do you know it’s Jag’s?” Putnam asked.

  So, it really is.

  “I saw them unloading away from the docks,” Lincoln said. “But I didn’t know until now what was in those crates. I don’t think he’d be happy if a gun was missing. Even if it’s only one.”

  Silence.

  “Listen,” Lincoln continued, “I don’t know what you’re doing out here, but we go way back. So I’ll just leave. I won’t tell anyone about the stolen revolver. And you won’t tell anyone I was here.”

  Putnam laughed, but it was forced and raspy. “I didn’t steal this. Jag gave it to me. I work for him.”

  Lincoln tensed. Not what I wanted to find tonight.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna snitch,” Putnam said, lowering the gun. “It’s been a while but we’re still good, you and I.”

  Putnam wasn’t untrustworthy, but something didn’t sit right with Lincoln.

  “Alright,” Lincoln said. “I’ll just go then.”

  The moon reappeared. They were bathed in soft light once again.

  Putnam’s eyes flicked to his left. He shuffled his feet in the same direction.

  Lincoln looked past his legs.

  There was a body behind Putnam.

  “Does Jag know about that?” Lincoln asked, gesturing to the body.

  Putnam twitched.

  “That’s why.” Lincoln pressed. “Not cause we’re pals. You’re not snitching because if Jag knew you were digging up bodies, you’d be hung.”

  “Alright,” Putnam snarled. “Shut up and help me, then. I don’t know what’s going on with this damn thing. It’s got plants growing all over it.”

  Putnam stepped away for Lincoln to see.

  It was a young woman’s body, maybe twenty years old. Her left arm was taken over by yellow and green. The same vines Lincoln had seen on the other bodies. But nothing had been this extensive. A smattering of mushroom-like pods grew from her hip on the same side.

  Then…

  Her chest…

  It rose and it fell.

  Again.

  And again.

  She’s still breathing.

  Thank you so much for reading this far. If you enjoyed the ride (or even if you didn't), let me know by leaving a review or rating for this book.

  As a self-published author, your comments and excitement about my books have a huge impact on their success. I would love to make writing a full-time affair but I can't get there without you. So thank you again - and let me know what you're looking forward to in the next books!

  Stay updated on the series at storytellbooks.com!

 

 

 
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