
Gehenna

West of Hell, Volume 1

by Jason Brant

Copyright © 2013 Jason Brant

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission from Jason Brant, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Editing Services Provided by Cynthia Shepp

www.CynthiaShepp.com

Cover Created by Phycel Designs

www.phycel.com

# Table of Contents

Copyright Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

# Chapter 1

––––––––

"You need to control your whores!" the filthy cowboy said, shoving his way through the saloon doors.

Ellis let out a heavy sigh as he watched another patron, who would likely never return, storm out of his saloon because of Karen.  That made three this month.  Shaking his head, he turned around and glared at her.

"How is someone so smart so stupid?  You can't make money if you always insult my customers.  You got to be the worst hooker I ever had."

"He smelled like shit.  Even more than the rest of them," Karen said.  She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at Ellis.  She considered him her closest friend, which she found odd because she considered herself little more than his slave.  He treated her well, and he never hit his women.  That was rare for a man who ran a brothel.

"They all smell like shit.  That's why they need to pay for it.  If you would just drink some of this rotgut like the rest of the girls, you wouldn't care so much."

The room grew silent as he finished.  He looked back at everyone else drinking at the bar.  Most of them were from other towns — just passing through as they headed further west.  Anthony and Dave, the owner of the general store next door and his employee, stared back at him.

"Not you guys.  You smell like a bunch of roses," Ellis said.

"Hell, I know we stink.  But you serve us rotgut?" Anthony asked.

Karen couldn't help but laugh while she descended the stairs, lifting her frilly skirt to keep from tripping.  She blew absentmindedly at the long strands of auburn hair that fell across her brow.  Leave it to Anthony and Dave to worry more about the quality of their whiskey than their stench.

"Of course I don't; you get nothing but the best.  I give the rotgut to everyone that comes in on the train," Ellis said, looking everywhere but their eyes.

Dave, the short and jovial stock boy, didn't seem to believe him and kept inspecting the booze in his dirty glass.  Anthony watched him for a few seconds before cuffing him on the back of the head.

"What're you looking at, dummy?  Like you could tell if that was all whiskey."

"Don't hit me, boss!" Dave said.

Ellis used the distraction to get away.  As usual, he struggled, squeezing his heavy frame through the opening on the side of the bar.

"I knew I should have taken those books away from you.  Women got no place learnin' from those things.  Nothin' good comes from it."

"If it wasn't for those books, I couldn't have helped you with your books."

Ellis glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one heard her.  "You know I can't thank you enough for helpin' me out around here.  I know you're the smartest person in this whole town, but you can't keep makin' fun at everyone.  People don't like their women learnt, especially not their whores."

Karen let out a long sigh.  She hated peddling herself to the stupid men who got off the train, but she refused to do what was expected of women in this godforsaken town.  She would never marry a local man because she viewed it as the equivalent of indentured servitude.  Cooking, cleaning, sewing, and worshipping at the feet of a man wasn't something that interested her.  Being paid to perform the fun parts of a marriage could be tolerated.  No man would marry a woman who was more intelligent than him anyway.

"I'll try and behave, but do your best to send me men who have at least heard of soap.  Give the dirty ones to Barbara."

"I heard that!" Barbara said from the balcony at the top of the stairs.  Karen didn't have to look up at her to tell that she had been drinking again.

"You don't care who Ellis sends to you."

"Yeah, but you don't have to say it," Barbara said.  She leaned over the railing and waved at a man sitting at a table, cradling a mug of beer.  When he flashed a sheepish grin back, she broke into her patented routine of twirling red hair and fluttering eyelashes.

Karen liked Barbara, but she was always drunk and had no self worth.  Men wanted dumb women who were willing do anything, and Barbara fit that mold.  Still, she treated Karen nicer than any of the other girls that worked at The Ellis Saloon.  Karen often had long, semi-drunken conversations with Barbara about escaping on the railroad and taking it to the end of the line.

While they both dreamt of that, Karen planned on following through.  Gehenna not only served as a way station for railroad passengers preparing to continue west, but also for people's lives.  It was the place where dreams and passions died.

Karen saved most of her earnings, hiding them under a floorboard in her room, and would soon have enough to live on for several years.  Barbara was content with her lot in life.

Ellis looked at her for several moments, appearing to consider what she said.

"Could you at least try the rotgut?"

Karen rubbed her hands on his balding head and laughed.  "You know bett−"

Shouting from the street interrupted her.  The first scream came from a woman, with several groans coming a few seconds later.

Dave hopped off his bar stool and shuffled to the door, peering over the saloon doors.

"Jesus help us!  He bit her face!"

Everyone jumped from their seats and rushed to the door and windows, squeezing against each other.  Karen climbed onto the bar, giving herself a better angle to look out the door.

What she saw made her stomach lurch.  She didn't dare turn her eyes away from the horror as she fought against rising bile.

Two men kneeled over a middle-aged woman in the dirt street, blood pooling underneath them, creating a reddish-brown mud.  Three arrows jutted out of the back of the nearest man, two more from his accomplice.

They were eating the woman alive.

# Chapter 2

––––––––

"What the hell is going on out there?" Sherriff Stanley asked.  He was trying to peer out the window without getting out of his chair.  It didn't seem to be working.

"Maybe you should go take a look," McCall said from inside the jail cell.

"Shut up.  Aaron, go see what the hell that noise is about," Stanley said to his deputy.

Aaron, who was admiring McCall's Colt Peacemaker, didn't seem to hear his boss.  He turned and gave McCall a sheepish look.

"What are these notches on the grip?  You really should take better care of her."

"Deputy," the sheriff said.

McCall looked back at him with dead eyes, ignoring Sherriff Stanley.  He figured Aaron to be twenty years old, maybe less.  His tight clothing suggested he wasn't done growing yet.

"One notch for every heeled hard case that wanted a fight."

"Deputy Aaron."

"You killed that many men?" Aaron asked in awe.

"More.  No room left on the grip."

"Deputy Aaron!"

Aaron dropped the gun as he spun around, surprised at the anger in Stanley's voice.

"Yeah, Uncle?"

"Go see what all that yelling is about.  And you'll call me Sheriff when you're on duty."

"Yes, sir," Aaron said.  He bent down, his fingers fumbling around, trying to pick up the gun.

"Aaron, forget the damned gun and get out there!"

Hesitating for a second, Aaron looked back and forth from the sheriff to the prisoner, before putting on his brown derby and heading to the door.  "I thought you'd be younger," he said to McCall before stepping outside.

"If that boy weren't my sister's kid... "

Stanley got out of the chair and walked over to the pistol, lifting it to inspect the handle.

"There must be fifty marks here.  The flyers around town say you killed a couple of men, but nothing like this."

McCall said nothing.  He'd made up the story about the marks on the handle just to scare the kid.  He even changed the way he spoke to add to his outlaw aura.

"If you read the sign coming into town you would have known you can't carry in Gehenna.  No one would have said nothing to you if you didn't have this big boy on your hip."

He did know of Gehenna's gun laws but didn't bother abiding by them.  That could be dangerous for a man like him.  Judging from the hundreds of guns strewn around the sheriff's office, most people did obey them.

Before Stanley could react, McCall sprang out of his cot and stood at the bars, barely more than an arm's length away.

"I don't follow no bullshit laws and I expect to get that pistol back."  He'd acquired the Colt years ago, and viewed it as a good luck charm.

Though he was armed and out of McCall's reach, Stanley took a hesitant step back.  Even seasoned lawmen like the sheriff were terrified of McCall's reputation.  He tried to shield his fear by turning away from the cell.

"The rail comes through tomorrow, so let's try and stay polite until then.  Once the federal marshals get here you can take that up with them."  Stanley walked back to his desk and dropped the Colt on it.  "Why'd you let Deputy Aaron take you anyway?  They say you're real fast; you could have taken him no problem."

McCall went back to his cot and tipped his hat over his eyes. "Didn't see no point in killing a kid.  I only shoot those who have it coming to them."

That wasn't to say that McCall didn't think about it when that kid came up behind him.  He had a feeling that he shouldn't stop in this damned town, but his horse had started to froth at the mouth and wobble at the knees.  The kid had spotted him while he was buying some food from those fools in the general store.  All these railroad towns had his picture up on every corner, but he still thought he could go unnoticed for a few hours.

McCall probably would have made a play for his pistol if he hadn't seen the barrel of the kid's gun trembling as it was pointed at him.  He appreciated the young deputy's bravery, even though he'd been shaking in his boots.  Getting a peaceful night's sleep in jail didn't seem all that bad to him either.

It wasn't until he woke up this morning that the sheriff told him that some federal marshals were due in the next night.  If it weren't for bad luck, he'd have no luck at all.  They'd been after him for awhile now, and if they caught him he'd be strung up in short time.  He killed one of them back in San Antonio a few months before and they'd been riled up ever since.

McCall didn't plan on being around when they got here.

"Been awhile since your boy went out there."

"It has, but I'm not dumb enough to leave Mad Dog McCall alone in here," Stanley said as he squinted through the soiled window.

A hint of a smile touched McCall's lips at the mention of his Mad Dog title.  It had a certain resonation that he liked.

"I'm getting out of here, whether you release me or I shoot my way out."

The loud crack of a gunshot rang through the street.  Several seconds of silence preceded two more.

Sheriff Stanley walked across the room and grabbed his beige hat, which hung from a nail by the door.  McCall noticed its flat top crown, sun faded color, and rusting badge, indicating the sheriff had been a law and order man for a long time.

"For the love of God, Aaron," he mumbled under his breath.  "I gotta see what that damn kid is shooting at.  Don't try nothing funny," Stanley said, looking back at McCall from the doorway.

Cries and screams erupted from the street.

# Chapter 3

––––––––

Karen couldn't believe what she had just witnessed.

Even with arrows sticking from their backs, the men kept gnawing on the woman as if nothing was wrong.  One of them peeled flesh away from her cheek, exposing too many of her teeth, as she tried to push him away with her free hand.  The bigger of the two men held her other arm, chewing on a chunk of muscle and skin he'd bitten from her forearm.  Her frilly taupe dress was soaked through with blood.

The haunting screams coming from her made Karen queasy.  She'd never heard a sound like that.

Everyone in the saloon stood still, rooted in place from shock.

Ellis was the first to react, pushing Dave and Anthony to either side as he stalked outside.

"Get off of her!"

His bellow jolted everyone else into motion.  Anthony grabbed Dave by the collar and hauled him through the doors.  Three other men that Karen didn't recognize followed them into the street.  The women, and most of the other men, didn't move, too horrified to do anything but watch.  Karen hopped off the bar and moved out to the porch, making sure to keep the railing between her and the violence.

Ellis grabbed the closest attacker's shoulder and spun him around.  A tomahawk stuck out of his chest.  A long, watery groan escaped from his mouth as he staggered forward, reaching his hands toward Ellis' neck.  Both of his lips were missing, revealing his red-tinged teeth.

"Lord in Heaven−" Ellis said when he saw the man's mangled face.  As fast as his bulky body would allow, he shoved the man back, knocking him over the woman he was eating seconds before.

Rushing past Ellis, the three men Karen didn't know grabbed the second attacker by the arms.  Their similar appearances gave the impression that one was the father of the other two men.  They were all large and had varied receding hairlines.  The oldest was completely bald, while the younger son still had half of his left.

As they pulled the madman away from his victim, he gnashed out with tobacco yellowed teeth and bit the hand of the father.

When he jerked his hand away, a jet of blood erupted from the wound and splattered across the shirt of the probable son to his left.  The man exploded with unexpected ferocity at the sight of the blood.  His mouth opened and closed, his teeth clacking over and over as he strained against their grip.

Dave, Anthony, and Ellis moved in on the first man while he clambered to his feet.  They kicked and stomped on him, trying to keep him from standing up.  The skin on his head split open from someone's spur, and Karen could hear ribs cracking from the repeated kicks.

"Stay down, damn you!" Ellis yelled.

The man managed to get a hold of one of Dave's legs and bit into the tan pants covering his shin.  Dave howled in pain as he tried to shake his leg free.

"He bit me, boss!  He bit me!"

Anthony stomped on the man's head, forcing his maw from Dave's leg.  A piece of crimson soaked cloth hung from his teeth.

"What the hell is going on?" Deputy Aaron said from behind them.  He had to yell to be heard over the moans of the attackers and Dave's whimpering.

Karen pointed at the two men, who were severely wounded at this point. "They were eating that poor woman!"

The woman wasn't moving anymore.  She just laid there, bleeding out in the dirt.  Karen couldn't see if she was breathing or not.

"Stop kicking him!  He's had enough," Aaron said as he tried to pull Ellis away.

Ellis shrugged him off and placed his boot on the man's face, pushing it against the ground.

"Stay back, boy.  It don't matter what we do to him, he just keeps coming.  Look at them; they got arrows sticking out of their backs!"

The other crazed man kept trying to get at the blood splashed across the shirt of the shorter son.  From Karen's position on the porch, she could see into his eyes.  They were overly black, like those of a wild animal.  A shiver ran through her body despite the overwhelming summer heat.

"Don't call me boy. I said that's enough.  Let him up!"  Aaron said.

"He's biting everyone in sight. I ain't letting him up," Ellis said without moving.

Aaron pulled his revolver from its holster and held it out in front of him.  "If he goes after anyone, I'll put him down.  Now step away from him."

Karen knew that Aaron's toughness was an act.  She could see his gun hand shaking even though she stood more than fifteen feet away.  He was a good kid, but still wet behind the ears.

Ellis considered the situation for a moment before lifting his foot and hopping backward.

The man staggered to his feet while more moans escaped his mouth.  A flap of skin, cut loose by a boot spur, partially covered his left eye.  Dust and dirt filled part of the gash, but not enough to cover the exposed bone inside.  His good eye never left Ellis as he stood and took a shuffling step toward him.

"Mister, I need you to come with me," Aaron said.

At the sound of Aaron's voice, the man's head turned, tendons creaking, and took in the deputy.  His uncovered eye widened as he hissed and moved in Aaron's direction on unsteady legs.

"Stop right there."

The wounded man didn't listen.

"Stop or I'll have to put you down."

Aaron pulled the hammer back and pointed the wavering gun at the man's chest.  The threat didn't faze him at all as he teetered forward.

With the flesh eater only two feet away, Aaron fired a round into his chest.  Other than a slight hesitation as it pitched him backward, the shot did nothing.  The bullet punctured his filthy skin and exited his back, coming within inches of Dave's torso.  Bits of bone and gore splattered the street behind him.

He didn't seem to notice.

Karen looked at Ellis, who stood motionless, his jaw slacked.  Looking around at everyone else, she saw similar expressions.  No one could believe what they were seeing.

Deputy Aaron was the only person who kept moving, much to Karen's surprise.  He put two more bullets into the man's chest, his expression growing more harried with each failed shot.  The width of the street was dotted with splatters of blood.

Even with the distance between them, Karen could hear the man's teeth clattering together as he tried to bite Aaron.  Their arms locked around each other's as they stumbled around, one trying to push away and the other pulling back.  Aaron's feet tangled as he backed up, causing both of them to topple over with the lipless man falling on top of him, chomping at his face.

"Help me!"  Aaron put both of his hands under his attacker's chin and pushed his head up and away from his own.  Dribbles of saliva oozed between the man's teeth and dripped onto Aaron's face.  Drops of spittle fell into his mouth as he cried out, causing him to gag.  "Get him away from me!"

Ellis and Anthony sprang into action, grabbing the man by his upper arms and lifting him away.

"I told you he was crazy," Ellis said.

"Where's your gallows?" the old man asked.  "We'll string these bastards up right now."

Sherriff Stanley came running up the road, kicking puffs of dust up with each heavy step.

"The hell you will," he said.  "We follow the law here in Gehenna.  No one is getting killed without a trial first."  He glared at Deputy Aaron.  "I sent you up here to see why people were yelling, not to shoot at someone."

"These men have gone mad!  They're trying to eat everyone!" Aaron said.  He tried to spit out the other man's saliva between sentences.  "Look at his chest!  I shot him three times and he kept coming at me!  They don't feel pain and they won't die."

Stanley looked unbelievingly at everyone standing around, taking in the entire scene.

"He's not making any sense.  What happened here?" he said to Ellis.

"We were inside, talking about my fine whiskey when we heard this woman screaming," Ellis said, cocking his head at the motionless woman.  "When we came out, they were eatin' her alive.  A couple of us got bit tryin' to get them away from her."

"He bit my leg!" Dave said in between whimpers.

"Stop being such a damn baby," Anthony said.  It looked like he wanted to give Dave another good cuff, but couldn't because of his grip on the man with no lips.

The man kept trying to bite at Ellis, but his disgusting mouth couldn't reach Ellis' hands.  Some of the kicks and stomps must have damaged something in his neck because it kept leaning to one side.  The bend in it was unnatural, just like everything else happening.

"He ain't lying; these men won't stay down.  That one over there has a damned tomahawk stickin' out of chest," Ellis said.

Sheriff Stanley's eyes opened wide at the sight of the axe buried in the man's chest.  "That's impossible."

"Apparently it ain't.  That axe is all the way to the hilt, but he still got a good chunk out of my hand," the older man said.  He had a gruff, whiskey aged voice.  "They ain't natural and we oughta take care of it right now.

"And who are you?  Do you know these men?" Stanley asked.

"They call me Zed.  These are my two boys, Robert and John," he said while nodding at his sons.  They tightened their grip on the crazed man, but didn't make any acknowledgements otherwise.

The sheriff looked around in disbelief.  "This shit isn't funny.  Discharging firearms is against the law, even for a deputy," he said to Aaron.

Karen wasn't sure if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, or if he wouldn't.

The older man with the raspy voiced strode over to the sheriff and stuck his wounded hand in his face.  "Does this look like a joke, son?"

"I understand that something happened here, but what you're describing isn't possible," Stanley said.  He shook his head, unable to comprehend the situation. "Aaron, go down and open up the other cell in the jailhouse. We're going to throw these two in there until we can figure out what's going on."

Without saying anything, Aaron turned and trotted down the road to the jailhouse that stood a hundred yards away.

"Karen, go down and get Doc Randy.  Tell him we need his services at the saloon right now," he said.  The look in his eyes suggested that he wasn't in the mood for a smarmy remark from her.

Karen could think of a thousand things she'd rather do than go see the doctor.  She considered him an asshole of the highest order.  He was probably drunk anyway.

"Dave, carry this woman inside.  It doesn't look like she made it, but we'll have the doc take a look at her anyway," Stanley said.

"But my leg−"

"To hell with your leg. Carry her inside, now!" Stanley said, marching toward the jail.

"Bring those two on down here and let's see if we can sort this mess out."

Karen watched them carry the two mangled men down the street before turning on her heels and heading in the opposite direction.

# Chapter 4

––––––––

McCall sat on his cot, inspecting the sheriff's office.  There were shotguns, revolvers, lever-action rifles, and muzzle loaders stacked and leaning everywhere.  A veritable gold mine of firearms sat just outside of his reach.  The entrance was directly in front of his cell, and a back door sat off to his left.  Neither looked too sturdy.

Along the wall, opposite of the sheriff's desk, sat half a dozen kegs of gunpowder.  Apparently the local gun ordinance pertained to explosives as well.  McCall eyed the kegs for a few seconds before turning and glancing back at his gun, which sat upon the desk.  No matter how he got out of this, he had to take that Peacemaker with him.

Leaning back against the cold, stone wall, he cracked a smile while thinking about the deputy he'd put the fear of God into.  Every time someone asked him about the markings on his pistol he came up with a more outlandish story.

He used those tales to fuel his infamy.  The more people feared him, the less he had to worry about them getting into his business.  Even Mad Dog was just a stupid name he spread around to help build his legend.

Truth was, he hadn't killed that many men.  He'd only shot down four, and all of those were in self-defense.  Killing changed a man, and not for the better.  Unfortunately, when people think of you as a fighter, they want to challenge you.  When they think of you as a stone cold, rampaging beast, they tend to leave you alone.

Now he had to relax and wait for an opportunity to present itself.  If he was going down, he'd be damned if it would be in a shithole town like this.

It had only been a few minutes since the sheriff had gone to check on the situation when McCall heard arguing voices coming down the street.

Deputy Aaron burst through the front door.  His face had drained of all its color, except for some darkening under his eyes.  He hesitated for a moment when he looked at McCall, as if he'd forgotten about the prisoner.  Dropping his gaze, he hustled over to the empty cell to McCall's right, fumbling for his keys.

"What's going on out there, boy?  You don't look so good."

The deputy didn't have a chance to answer before Sheriff Stanley strode through the door and pulled Aaron away from the cell by the collar of his shirt.  Taking the keys from his nephew, the sheriff opened the cell door before stepping clear.

Coming in behind him were two men and what looked like a person who had been stampeded to death—except he somehow wasn't dead.  McCall didn't understand how the man could still be alive in his condition, let alone struggling with such ferocity.  Part of his skull was exposed, and a hanging flap of skin covered one of his eyes.  He didn't have any lips.

"Hold him over by the door, but don't let go of him yet," Stanley said.

Two more, and much larger, men dragged in yet another crazed man, this one with an axe buried in his chest.  He fought against their hold despite what should have been a mortal wound.

"Throw both of them in at the same time and I'll get it secured," Stanley said, taking a position behind the open cell door.

The first group to come in the jailhouse threw their butchered prisoner in the cell and quickly stepped aside.  The second group did the same and the sheriff slammed the door as fast as he could.

McCall watched the mangled prisoners as they stumbled over one another, slowly getting back to their feet.  They pushed to the front of the cell, their arms extending through the bars, and tried to grab their captors.  Broken arrow shafts protruded from their backs.

A putrid smell permeated from them, like a dead animal that had been in the sun all day.

"You boys go on back to Ellis' place; Deputy Aaron and I will take it from here."

"What're you going to do with them?" the large, balding man asked.

Stanley considered the new prisoners for a few seconds before responding.  "I don't know yet. We still need to figure out what the hell is going on with them.  We're going to do a quick search around the town to see if anyone knows who they are.  We'll check on you at the saloon as soon as we're done."

Not wanting to take their eyes off the strangers, the four men backed out of the front door, leaving it open behind them.

Walking back to his desk, Stanley opened the top drawer and took out a bottle of some dark booze.  After taking a long pull from it, he handed it over to the deputy.

"You aren't looking so good.  Take a swig of this, it'll clear you up."

To McCall's surprise, Deputy Aaron looked even worse than he had when they entered the jailhouse only two minutes before.  His skin was taking on a sallow, thin appearance.

Grabbing the bottle, Aaron started to drink from it only to spit it back out, covering the sheriff's desk.

"That tastes like kerosene!"

"I made it myself."

"With what? Kerosene?"

"Only a little."

"Anyone care to explain what's going on here?" McCall asked from his cot.  "How is a man with an axe in his chest still walking around?"

The sound of McCall's voice grabbed the attention of the lipless man, who turned and tried to reach through the bars to McCall.  He was short a good two feet so McCall didn't bother moving.

Stanley walked around his desk and stood in front of the second cell, out of reach of the moaning men.

"Who are you?"  They didn't acknowledge the question, just kept trying to grab onto him.  "Where did you come from?  Why were you attacking that woman?"  No response except more moans.

"Aaron, you're telling me that you shot this guy three times?"

Wiping the alcohol and spit from his lips, Aaron turned around.  "Yes, sir, three times at less than five feet.  He just kept coming forward, trying to take a bite out of me."

When the deputy had arrested McCall at the general store yesterday, he'd been frightened.  Now he seemed petrified.

"No man could live through that.  It just ain't possible."

"Look at the front of his shirt; three bullet holes, and three more arrows sticking out of the back.  The other one looks like someone mistook him for a tree and tried to chop him down."

"He ain't no man.  Neither of them are," McCall said.  "At least not anymore.  No one can live through that."

A startled look swept across their faces.  Stanley recovered after a few seconds and laughed it off.  Aaron didn't.

"What are they then?  Demons?  Why don't you leave the investigating to those of us who are still men of the law?  We don't need advice from an outlaw in a jail cell," Stanley said.

The sheriff knew the one part of McCall's criminal history that wasn't fabricated − he had once been Sheriff McCall before Mad Dog.  He'd presided over a sleepy hamlet back east, spending most of his days at one of the few pubs in the area.

A caravan, passing through on their way to Philadelphia, was held up on the outskirts of town.  Hearing the gunshots from his perch at the bar, McCall had been able to catch up to the bandits before they could escape.  The gunfight was short, with Sherriff McCall putting two men down before three others escaped.  Though he lived in a small town, he'd always been an incredible marksman.

The marshals arrived the next day with a warrant for his arrest.  He was charged with robbing the caravan, killing its occupants, and the murder of two federal officers.  As soon as they walked through the door, he recognized three of them as the men who'd escaped him the day before.

The corruption of the marshal service had caught McCall completely off guard.  Though he pled his case, they were intent on having his head.  After gunning down another agent, he fled, abandoning the life he'd built.  It wasn't a week later that his face began appearing on wanted fliers up and down the east coast.

"It doesn't look like he's going to be capable of standing soon, let alone investigating anything," McCall said, nodding at the deputy.

Aaron was sitting against the edge of the desk, his hands placed on his knees to support his weight.  His body began trembling, shaking the entire desk supporting him.

"Aaron?" Stanley asked.

Abruptly falling to his knees, he pitched forward, cracking his head against the wood floor.  He never raised his hands to protect himself from the fall.

Stanley dropped to his haunches beside Aaron, placing a hand on his back.  McCall stayed in his cot, reclining against the wall, watching.  He'd seen even the biggest of men fall apart after a gunfight, but had never heard of someone having such a visceral reaction.

"Come on, son.  We need to get you over to Ellis' saloon and have the doc take a look at you."

The trembling stopped.  Aaron lay motionless on the floor, his uncle kneeling over him.

"Aaron?"

A moan escaped Aaron as he slowly leaned backward, his black eyes looking over his uncle.

"Aaron?  What's wrong wi−"

The young deputy lunged at his uncle, chomping down on Stanley's right ear.  The sheriff howled as he fell backward, pushing his nephew away.  The combination of his weight falling back, and violently shoving Aaron in the opposite direction, tore his ear free.

Stanley scampered away until his back bumped against the kegs of black powder.  His shocked face was ashen gray as he pressed a hand to the gaping hole on the side of his head.  Streams of blood seeped through his fingers, coursing down his forearm.

Aaron chewed on the ear with slow, deliberate bites.  McCall could hear the cartilage crunching.

After a large and pronounced swallow, he crawled forward, eager to get another piece of his uncle.

# Chapter 5

––––––––

"Asshole?"  Karen called into the vestibule of the church.  The only thing she hated more than being around Doc Randy was being with him in his church.  She avoided it at all costs.

"Doc, the sheriff needs your help.  Several people are hurt back at the bar."

No answer.  Bastard was probably drunk, as usual.  For a doctor and reverend, he didn't seem to mind partaking; even though he had constantly railed against the sins of Ellis' Saloon and its workers over the years.

Never mind that she knew for a fact that the good doctor had purchased the services of at least two of the women who worked there.  Or that he had an illegitimate child of his own.  Or that he drank and smoked himself stupid every day.

Karen may have been a prostitute, but at least she accepted her faults.  Doctor Randy had convinced himself that he lived without sin, despite all of his vices.  How he managed to have a congregation, as small as it was, remained a mystery to Karen.

Stepping into the dark entrance, she let her eyes adjust before walking down the middle of the nave.  Because Gehenna was a relatively small town, the church didn't have an abundance of pews – only six on either side of her.

Beyond the front bench, sitting on the floor with his back against the podium, sat the doc.  His eternally red cheeks stood out in stark contrast to his otherwise pale skin and bulbous nose.  A bottle of some kind lay beside him, tipped over, with most of its dark contents drying on the stone flooring.

"Jesus Christ," Karen said.  She knelt down in front of him, unconcerned with her blasphemy.  "Wake up, you drunken dolt."

With no response forthcoming, she tapped on his cheeks.  After a second she recognized the golden opportunity and cocked her arm back.

With a grin that felt like it spread from ear to ear, she slapped him in the face as hard as she could.  The crack echoed through the room, making it all the more fun for her.

The impact sent his body off to the side, landing on top of the bottle.  The booze soaked through his black robes and hair.  Karen hoped it might make him smell a little better.

"I'm awake!" He rubbed his cheek, which was turning a brighter shade of red.  "What'd you have to hit me for?"

Pushing himself back into a seated position, he glared at Karen with a deep-seated disdain.

"How dare you enter this holy place, whore.  What are you doing here?"

"Trying my best not to catch on fire," she said.  "Though it doesn't look like I'm any more sacrilegious than you are."

Sneering at her, he reached around for his bottle.  His shoulders slumped when he noticed that most of it had spilled on the floor.

Karen wondered if she could get away with slapping him again.

"Get out of here and leave me in peace, whore."

"The last place I want to be is here with you.  The sheriff sent me down to collect your sorry ass.  Some people are hurt back down the street and they need you to look at them."

Judging from his appearance, Karen wasn't sure that he was capable of taking care of a dog right now.

"If you think I'm going somewhere with a filthy—"

"Yes, we know I'm a whore, but your services are needed, as sad and pathetic as they may be."

The doc looked like he was formulating a retort, so Karen decided to appeal to his needs rather than his heart.

"The injured are waiting for you at the saloon.  Ellis will most likely be obliged to take care of you while you tend to the wounded."

Randy perked up at that, his eyes alight with anticipation.  "Well, if people are in need, the Lord demands I offer my services."

Karen really wanted to slap him again.

"You said 'people'. How many are we talking?"

"At least five, maybe more though."

"Five?  What happened to them?"

"Two of them were bit, one was eaten alive, and the others were attacked with arrows, guns, and a tomahawk."

The doc, who was still struggling to get to his feet, stopped and gave her a disbelieving look.  "Don't toy with me, heathen.  I haven't time to play games."

Karen sighed and looked to the ceiling of the chapel, as if looking for guidance.  "Knowing that I can't stand the sight of you, why would I lie, as that would only prolong the agony of your company?"

The doctor smirked as he straightened out his black clothing.  "What you're saying doesn't make sense.  Two people were bit and one was eaten alive?  By what, wolves?"

Turning, Karen started walking back to the entrance.  "By two strange men that no one recognized.  They were the ones that were shot and axed."

She could hear Randy plodding down the aisle behind her.

"Two men are running around eating people?" he asked.  "Your whoredom has rotted your mind."

"No more than booze and stupidity has rotted yours."

While Doctor Randy retrieved his medical supplies, Karen decided to wait outside.  Standing in the dusty street, she looked in the direction of the railroad tracks.  The rail sat about two hundred yards away, at the end of the town.  Squinting against the setting sun, she could see four people walking out of the front door of a brown home.

Staggering was more like it though; they seemed to meander around the street aimlessly.  A scream burst through the silence, forcing her nerves back on edge.  The voice had come from a home much closer.

The wandering people turned in a slow, jerky manner and plodded in the direction of the scream.  Two doors down, a child and an elderly woman emerged from a faded house and teetered in her direction.  The entire scene gave Karen an uneasy feeling.

"Let's go, hooker," Doc said from behind her.  She jumped at his voice, not realizing how entranced she'd been by the bizarre situation.

"Did you hear that scream?  It sounded like a child."

"I didn't hear anything.  Let's get going, I need a dri... I mean, people need my help."

Turning around, Karen walked toward the saloon at a brisk pace.  Another scream, much closer, gave both of them pause.

"Don't tell me your holy ass didn't hear that?"

"I won't stand for back talk from whores," he said, his voice brimming with indignation.  "I heard it, but there are other people that need me first.  I'll come back when I've finished at the bar."

When you've finished drinking at the bar, that is, Karen thought.

As they walked back to the saloon, Karen kept looking back over her shoulder, trying to keep an eye on the people behind them.

By the time they arrived, she'd seen more than twenty people crowding into the street.  She had a feeling things were about to go from bad to worse.

# Chapter 6

––––––––

McCall had witnessed some horrible things in his life, but watching a nephew eat his uncle topped the list.  The viciousness with which the boy killed his own kin shocked McCall to his core.

The sheriff hadn't died easy or quick.  After several minutes, his screams began quieting as he choked on his own blood.

When the boy first went to work on his uncle, McCall had yelled and banged on the bars, trying to get the attention away from the sheriff.  No man deserved to die like that.

As it became clear that nothing would distract the deputy, McCall sat on his cot and watched the scene play out while he tried to deduce a means of escape.

Blood and gore covered the surroundings.  The young deputy didn't seem to believe in dining room etiquette while he ate people.  He'd dug into the sheriff's stomach, pulling out his innards, which now decorated the walls, floor, and weaponry.

Shortly after the last of Stanley's dying gurgles, his nephew abruptly stopped.  Slowly turning, he looked at McCall with his black, soulless eyes.  McCall didn't flinch, and returned the intense look.  During their brief stare down, McCall wondered if fear and intimidation would work on the boy, or whatever it was he had become, the way it did on animals and people.

It didn't.  The deputy rose and staggered toward the cell, his outstretched arms reaching through the bars like the two men to the right.  A loop of intestines hung from his left shoulder, sprinkling its foul contents with every jarring step.  The entire room smelled of copper and shit.

Looking back at the boy, McCall felt he had been right to say these were no longer men.  Something had changed them, and it didn't look like they would ever be the same again.

Over the deputy's shoulder, through the door to the jailhouse, McCall spotted a few people meandering by the door.  Though the jail was filled with the moans of the three monsters surrounding him, he could hear similar sounds coming from the street.

If there were more people like this outside, then McCall wasn't so sure that escape was his best option.  Maybe he should ride this out until someone came and took care of Deputy Aaron, and whoever else was wandering the streets.

His cell, which seemed like a death trap only moments before, could be his salvation.  All things considered, he was relatively safe in here.  When he'd first been locked up, he'd checked every bar, shaking them vigorously as he looked for any weakness.  He didn't find any.

What if no one came before the marshals arrived tomorrow afternoon?  What good would the protection of his cell do if he'd be hanging in the gallows tomorrow anyway?

Besides, who was going to save him from these things in an unarmed town?  Without guns, he wasn't sure anyone could defend themselves, let alone mount a rescue to save a jailed outlaw.

McCall rose from his cot, coming within a few inches of Aaron's reach.  Moving to his left, he kept a close eye on the kid, studying the boy's reaction.

Instead of retracting his arms and moving closer, the deputy tried to stretch through the gaps in the bars even further.  He was acting like an animal and didn't seem to have any kind of problem solving capabilities.

Spotting the gun sitting against Aaron's hip, McCall squared off in front of him, just out of his reach.  If he moved fast enough, he could remove the gun from its holster and shoot the deputy down.  That would solve one problem.

Unfortunately, McCall had watched Sheriff Stanley put the cell's key into his pocket.  The lawman's body was a good ten feet away – there was no chance of reaching him.

The setting sun had begun casting long, dark shadows across the floor and walls.  The angle of the light made it difficult to see the other side of the room for McCall.

When a woman stepped into the doorway, McCall couldn't make out any of her features.  She stood in the door in silence.  Her silhouette didn't betray any information as to her mental state.

"Lady, I suggest you run on out of here just as fast as you can," McCall said.

She didn't respond.

McCall drew in breath to yell more warnings, when the moan escaped her.

Damn.

Her body pitched forward, propelling her through the door and into the office area.  Paying no attention to the sheriff's body, she crossed the room and stumbled into the back of the deputy.  The force of the collision slammed his head against the iron bars on either side of his face.

McCall watched closely, looking for any sign of anger or pain; anything that would come close to an emotion other than the empty, yet somehow ravenous, look that stuck there.  Nothing registered on his face.

The woman managed her way around the deputy with a dearth of grace, settling in beside him.  A massive hunk of flesh was missing from her neck.  The front of her yellow dress was adorned with what had once been white daisies.  Now that they were caked with blood and dirt, the flowers resembled something from an artist's nightmare.  Large patches of blonde hair were absent from her scalp, some of which now stuck to her gore soaked clothing.

With two of these things in front of his cell, McCall decided that if he was going to get out of this mess, it would have to be soon.  There was no telling how many more stalked the streets.

Thrusting his right forearm up, he slammed it against both of the deputy's arms, pushing them high and away.  Dropping to a knee, he reached through the bars with his left hand and grabbed the pistol that hung from Aaron's hip.  As he pulled back on the butt of the gun, the hammer caught against the holster.

McCall yanked on the gun, jamming the deputy against the bars, but didn't free the pistol.  Lifting up instead of back, McCall managed to pull the gun clear.  As he did a pair of hands grabbed the collar of his shirt, reeling him forward.  The brim of his hat struck the bars and toppled from his head.

The gaping mouthed woman pulled him closer.  McCall grabbed onto her wrist, trying to wrench her hand free of his clothing.  Separating them on his second attempt, he shoved her arm away just as Aaron got both of his hands around the back of McCall's neck.

Dropping the gun behind him, McCall put his left hand against the nearest bar and pushed himself away from Aaron's bloody mouth.  The woman, seeing his hand on the bar, bobbed her head down, missing his fingers by inches.  Her crooked teeth clanged against the bar, shattering several of them.

Jerking his hand away from the bar, McCall barely got it out of the way of her second attempt.  Her mouth hit the bar again and her jagged teeth tore into her lower lip.

Without the ability to place his hands on the bars, McCall was slowly being pulled into Aaron's waiting maw.  Struggling against his hands, McCall tried to pull them away from his neck, but couldn't break Aaron's grip.  The only thing preventing his impending doom was one of the other men in the neighboring cell.  He'd managed to grab onto McCall's shoulder and was pulling him in the opposite direction.

Swinging his head around in wide, frantic arcs, McCall looked for anything that could help him.  A shaft of light glinted off a barely visible piece of the axe blade that was buried in the man's chest.

Reaching out with his right hand, McCall grabbed the handle of the axe and tore it from his chest.  The blade scraped against the man's ribs as it pulled free, sending bits of white bone and red tissue falling to the floor.

Lifting the tomahawk above his head, McCall brought it down on the left elbow of the deputy.  The blade was dull and didn't do the damage that the outlaw hoped for, but it was enough to loosen Aaron's grip a bit.  McCall rained another blow down on the joint, cutting through most of the tissue.  The grip strength in that hand evaporated and McCall was able to force himself away.

The other man's hand remained on his shirt, but McCall was able to extract himself from it with a quick jerk of his shoulder.

Falling back on his cot, he took long, deep breaths.  In front of him stood Aaron, pressing against the cell, with outstretched arms.  The one McCall had taken the axe to hung at the elbow.  A patch of skin and muscle were all that held his arm intact with only a small amount of blood pattering the floor.  No pain or concern registered on Aaron's face.  Mad Dog McCall had never imagined, let alone witnessed, anything like this.  He wasn't sure anyone had.

A moan from yet another source wafted into the cell.  Movement caught McCall's eyes from behind Aaron's legs.

The sheriff, lying on the floor, covered in his own blood and organs, turned his head and looked at McCall with black eyes.

# Chapter 7

––––––––

"If you aren't going to be of use and fetch me a drink, then get away from me, you shitty haired whore," Doctor Randy said, glowering at Karen.

"Shitty haired−" Ellis said, before cutting himself off.  "Are you drunk, Doc?"

The doctor looked up from Dave's wounded leg and gave Ellis a reproachful look.

"Just because I partake in the occasional spirit does not mean that I am drunk."

"Well, you look worse than Dave does and it seems like the Reaper's tapping on his shoulder."

Dave was lying on the bar; grimacing every time Randy touched his leg.  He popped his head up at the mention of his name.

"Am I going to die?" he asked the doctor, his voice wavering with fear.

Anthony stood beside Randy, watching the work being done. "Nobody's dying.  Especially not from a leg bite," he said as he cuffed Dave on the crown of his head.

"Don't hit me, boss!  I'm not feeling so good."

Zed, the older man with the injured hand, took a shot of whiskey and stood from the table he sat at with his two sons.  Dark bags colored the undersides of his eyes.  Karen couldn't remember if they had been there before or not.

"I've never seen anything like that in all my years.  No man can take bullets like that.  Never seen anyone take an axe to the chest either."

Doctor Randy poured some clear alcohol over Dave's leg, causing him to scream out in pained shock.

Anthony slapped the side of his face.

"Don't hit me, boss!"

"What you're saying isn't possible," Randy said.  He patted Dave on the thigh as he rose from his chair. "Just lie here for awhile and rest."

"He ain't lyin'.  We kicked the livin' hell out of one of them, and he just kept gettin' up.  We all saw it," Ellis said.

Walking over to Zed's table, Randy grabbed the bottle and took a long swig from it.  Too long to please Karen, but she didn't want to start more bickering.

"You have to be over exaggerating how much damage the man took."

Holding the bottle in one hand, Randy reached out for Zed's hand.  "Did the same man bite you?"

"No, it was the other one.  They were both acting like rabid dogs, trying to bite everything in sight," Zed said.

After a few seconds of inspecting the wound on Zed's hand, the doctor poured some of the whiskey over it.

"That should take care of it for you," Randy said before drinking from the bottle again.

Karen couldn't take it anymore.  "Is that all you're going to do?  We could have done that ourselves and spared us the displeasure of your company."

"Watch your mouth with me, whore."

Barbara had been sitting at a table in the far corner of the room, batting her eyes at John, one of Zed's boys.  Lauren sat beside her, sipping at a glass.  She was the only other girl working that night.

"Don't act all holy around us.  Just last week you came in the back door of this place and we had us some fun," she said.  Apparently Barbara had enough of the doctor as well.

The doc's rosy cheeks turned a deep red as he looked around at everyone.  He started to speak, but only managed a few sputters.

Ellis walked to the middle of the room and took charge.  "Now look, I don't want to hear any more of—" he said before stopping.

Cocking his ear in the direction of the front door, he stood in silence for several seconds.

Rob, the bigger of Zed's sons, rose from his chair.  "What is it?"

"Shhh!" Ellis said.

Everyone froze in place, listening.  Then Karen heard them.  Moans coming from the street.

Lauren walked over to where Ellis stood, her knee high skirt pulling every man's eye in the place to her.  She liked to call that skirt her 'money maker', because it always guaranteed someone would throw money her way.

Karen wasn't too surprised to see that it drew men's gazes even in a situation like this.

"What is that?  Is someone sick?" she said.

Ellis took a few tentative steps toward the door.  "That sounds an awful lot like those two men the sheriff just took away."

No one else moved a muscle.  Karen felt her body tensing and forced her muscles to relax.

Peering over the top of the saloon doors, he stood there for several seconds, looking down the street to his left.  The moans continued to grow louder.

"There are a whole lot of people walking around that look just like those men.  I see Mrs. Armstrong walking this way. Her−" His voice caught in his throat.  "Oh Jesus!  Her eye is out!  It's hanging on her cheek!"

Karen ran to the window and looked in the same direction as Ellis.

People littered the street.  They moved about in a jerky fashion, as if their knees weren't bending properly.  Most of them had blood caked to their clothing.  Some were missing limbs.

"They're everywhere," Karen said, more to herself than anyone else.  "I recognize most of them; they live in town.  What's going on out there?"

Doctor Randy walked over to the door and stood beside Ellis.  "What are you two going on about?"  He must have seen Mrs. Armstrong because his tone changed from condescension to horror.  "Oh my God.  Ma'am, you need help!  Come over here and let me help you!" he yelled through the door.

"No, you fool!" Ellis grabbed at his shoulder, trying to keep him from leaving the saloon.  A raspy, wheezing sound came from the other side of the door, grabbing everyone's attention.

The man that stumbled into the saloon had been burned beyond recognition.  His entire body was blackened, with bits of charred clothing stuck to oozing skin and muscle.  The smell of burned hair and flesh emanating from him made Karen nauseous.  Smoke rose from his head and shoulders.

He grabbed at the black, alcohol soaked robes Randy wore, but his fingers were too damaged to grip anything.  Tripping over his own feet, the doctor fell to the ground and landed on his ass.  He held his hands out in front of him, trying to ward off the monstrosity.

Ellis shoved the man in the chest, throwing him through the double doors.

From the window, Karen watched as his charred body fell off the porch, rolling into the street head over heels.

"Bring some tables over here, now!" Ellis said from the doorway.

"Impossible," Randy said from the floor.  "That's impossible."

Rob and John jumped from the chairs, knocking them over behind them.  Each grabbed an edge of their square table and tipped it sideways, sending its bottle and glasses crashing to the floor.

"Hurry!" Ellis said.  "More of them are headed this way!"

Zed's sons dropped the table on its side at the base of the door and pushed it flush against the frame.

"We need another table and more weight," Rob said.

Karen grabbed Lauren by the elbow, pulling her from her chair.  "Grab the other end of this table."

"I don't underst−"

"Just do it," Karen said.

Lauren seemed like she wanted to continue to protest, but a quick glance at Karen's face took the fight out of her.

As they lifted the table to put it on top of the other one, Karen could see Mrs. Armstrong on the other side of the door.  Blood and pus ran down her cheek from the empty socket where her right eye had once been.  The eye swayed back and forth with every step, smacking against her nose and cheekbone with a watery softness.  A groan escaped her throat when she saw Karen and Lauren.

Known as the finest seamstress in Gehenna, Mrs. Armstrong had personally made several of Karen's favorite dresses.  She specialized in working with fine stitching due to her dexterous hands and sharp eyesight.

When Lauren spotted Mrs. Armstrong, she dropped her end of the table and ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time, screeching the entire way.  The weight of the falling table dragged Karen forward, pulling her within reaching distance of Mrs. Armstrong.

Karen could feel bony, jagged fingers snagging her hair and tugging at her scalp.  Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and ripped her back through the doorway, sending her pinwheeling into the bar.  Ellis punched the elderly woman in the face, mashing her dangling eyeball and knocking her out of the door.

As she fell backward from the force of the blow, Ellis took hold of both sides of the table and jammed it on top of the first, closing off the door.

Anthony came up behind him with several chairs under each arm.

"Those ain't heavy enough; we need−"

The tables pitched forward, falling against Ellis' back.  Planting his feet against the floor, Ellis pushed back against the tables.  Strands bulged from his neck as he struggled to block the door again.

On the other side of the table, Mrs. Armstrong and the burned man fought against his momentum, trying to force their way inside the saloon.

"Help me, damn it!"

John came up beside them and put his considerable weight against the tables, giving the extra push needed to put them flush with the door.

"Anthony, take my place.  I've got a hammer and nails behind the bar," Ellis said.

The tables budged a few inches as they changed positions.  Though Anthony wasn't a small man, he weighed much less than the rotund Ellis, and he struggled to hold the barricade in place.

Barbara stood by one of the windows, peering through a dirty pane.

"What's going on?  Is everyone sick?"

In the distance, more screams could be heard above the faint moans and groans.

"We'll figure that out later.  Get some tables against those windows!" Ellis said to Rob.

Squeezing his plump body around the bar, he started rooting around the shelving under the counter.

The thunder of gunshots filled the streets.

"That must have come from the sheriff's office," Karen said.

Dave lifted his head from the bar and looked at Anthony.  "You think Sheriff Stanley is having trouble with those guys that bit us?"

"If I wasn't busy right now, I'd smack the hell out of you," Anthony said as he struggled against the table.

Zed watched the growing throng of people in the street as he worked at barricading the other window.  "More of them are coming every second... "

Rob and Barbara were busy placing tables by the windows while Ellis came back to the front door with a hammer and canning jar filled with nails.  He had to step over the doctor who was sprawled on the floor, watching the action with hysteria in his eyes.

"Hold it steady," Ellis said.

As he started on the first nail, Zed started teetering on his feet as if he'd lost his balance.

Karen slid a chair over and placed it behind his knees.  "What's gotten into you?"

His skin seemed to have thinned, like it had been stretched too far, and his eyes looked like they were bugging out of his head.

"I don't know.  I feel sick as a−" he said, before vomiting on the floor.

Standing with his hands on his knees, he tried to straighten his back before crumpling down.  His body landed in a disturbing seated position with his head hanging down.

"Pa?" John asked.  "Pa!"  He stepped away from the table, intent on seeing to his ailing father.  The moment he did, the table buckled in before John threw his back into it again.

Another shot barked from down the street.

# Chapter 8

––––––––

McCall watched in disbelief as the sheriff tried to sit up.  Most of his midsection was gone, strewn around the room in every direction.

Sheriff Stanley struggled for several moments to get to a seated position, as he didn't have any abdominal muscles.  Eventually he rolled to his side and pushed himself to his feet.

His torso wobbled as he walked to the front of McCall's cell.  With every step it seemed like his body might break in half.  A trail of intestines dragged behind him, cutting a bloody swath through the dust on the floor.

Everything McCall had witnessed so far today seemed impossible, but watching a dead man rise and walk was more than he could take.  It felt as if the very foundation of his sanity was being eroded away by one event after another.

Looking at the massive hole in the middle of the sheriff's body, McCall could see the man's ribs and the column of his spine.  As he watched, a chunk of one of his organs fell from the cavity and landed at his feet with a sickening plop.

He needed to escape before it was too late.  Marshals or no, he couldn't stay in here, surrounded by walking corpses.

Picking up the deputy's pistol from the floor, he stood and faced the sheriff.  Fanning the hammer with his left hand, he put two rapid-fire shots into Stanley's chest, aiming for his heart.

The impacts sent the sheriff back a half step, his upper body bobbing precariously at its tipping point. But he pressed against the cage moments later, resuming his unsuccessful attempts at reaching McCall.  Wisps of smoke emerged from the two holes in his chest, just above the gaping chasm that used to be his stomach.

McCall knew that these weren't men anymore, and at that moment he didn't care to know what exactly they had become either.  The only information he wanted now was how to kill them.

He knew, from the two men to his right, that arrows and axes to the heart didn't do anything.  The deputy's nearly severed arm told him that they didn't feel any pain.  And the three holes in the sheriff's body told him that bullets and disembowelment had no effect.

Picking up the tomahawk, he looked at the dull, gore covered blade.  If they couldn't be killed, perhaps he could dismember them, disabling their ability to attack him.

Too messy and tiring.

He'd be exhausted before he could finish the job.  And he didn't know how many more of these things roamed the streets.

Then he thought of hunting.  What do you do with a wounded animal?  You cut its throat if you have a sharp knife, which he didn't.  Or you shoot in the head if you could afford using the extra bullet.

Dropping the axe, he switched the pistol to his right hand and cocked the hammer back with his thumb.  Lifting the gun, he aimed at the sheriff's forehead and fired.

The back of Stanley's head exploded, showering his desk and the window beside it with skull fragments and brain tissue.  His limbs stiffened as he fell back, crashing into the desk and crumpling to the floor.

McCall watched the corpse closely, looking for any signs of movement.  There were none.  Content with the result, he turned to the woman, pointed the pistol at her head, and pulled the trigger.  Nothing happened.

After opening the cylinder, McCall tipped the bullets into his palm.  Only casings remained, all of the rounds spent.  McCall tried to remember how many shots he heard the deputy shoot in the street, and the number he used on the sheriff just now.

Throwing the pistol to the ground in frustration, he grabbed the tomahawk and stood in front of the woman and the deputy.  Knowing what he had to do didn't make it any easier.  Shooting someone was one thing, but hacking at them with an axe seemed more personal.

Drawing a deep breath, he grasped at reassurance by telling himself they weren't people anymore.  They were no more than mindless beasts.  If the boy could eat his uncle alive, then there couldn't have been any part of who he used to be inside the shell of his body.

Using his left forearm, he battered the woman's outstretched arms down, giving him a clear path to her head.  With all his strength, he brought the tomahawk down in a shallow arc, embedding it in her skull. Strands of long blond hair, sliced by the axe, drifted to the floor, catching rays of light along the way.

The woman slumped down, landing on her ass and pulling the axe with her.  McCall kept a tight grip on the handle, afraid of losing his last weapon.  The weight of the body drifted away from the cell, pulling McCall shoulder deep between the bars.  Realizing how exposed his outstretched arm was, he heaved on the tomahawk, trying to wrench it free.

What used to be Deputy Aaron looked down at the tantalizing limb and dropped his chomping mouth for it without pulling his arms free of the bars first.  McCall gave one last tug on the axe, felt it give slightly, before releasing it as the deputy's teeth snagged his sleeve.

A shred of his clothing tore away as he retracted his arm, flapping loosely from Aaron's bloody teeth.

The woman's body fell over, landing on its back.  The axe sat two feet past McCall's reach.

"Shit."

McCall slumped against the wall, cursing himself for not anticipating the turn of events.  His eyes darted over the room again, searching for anything that could help him.  Nothing sat within his reach.

Looking at the two men to his right, McCall remembered the broken arrows sticking from their backs.  His movement was a blur as he grabbed the nearest man's extended arm and pulled him tight against the bars.  Moving to his right, he reached his arm into the other cell.  Careful of the man's gnashing jaw; he grabbed one of the arrows and tore it free.  Fortunately, it wasn't buried deep in the muscle, making it possible to liberate without much force.

Releasing the man's arm, McCall jumped back to the middle of his cell.  He flipped the shaft in his hand, angling the spade shaped arrowhead out of the bottom of his fist.

Aaron had resumed his mindless reaching by the door.  McCall threw his body into the deputy's arms, driving the arrow into his eye.  The puncture produced a distinct pop as the shaft drove forward until McCall's hand rested against Aaron's cheek.

The deputy's hands, which had encircled Mad Dog's neck, clenched tighter before slumping to his sides.  McCall let the arrow slip from his hand as Deputy Aaron's body collapsed on top of the woman in the flowered dress.

Crashing into his cot, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sounds coming from the cell next to him.  He was beginning to question what was more important to him; escaping the damned moaning, or saving his own life.

Dropping to his hands and knees, he reached through the bars, trying to grab a hold of the pant leg of the sheriff.  The key sitting in his front pocket was McCall's only hope.  Extending his shoulder as far into the gap as possible allowed him to just reach the bottom cuff.

Wrapping his fingers around it, he pulled gently, fearful of tearing the fabric.  If Sheriff Stanley's body had been intact, it would have been impossible to slide him across the floor using the cuff of his pants.  But because his nephew had an early lunch, he weighed significantly less.

Even at its new, smaller size, McCall's muscles strained under the weight of the corpse.  The process proved slow and agonizing as the body inched closer.  McCall paused several times, switching arms due to cramps in his hands.

After what seemed an eternity, the leg was close enough to get both of his hands around it.  Sliding the legs through until the crotch jammed against the bars allowed McCall to reach into the pocket and fetch his salvation.

The click as the lock opened was the greatest sound he'd ever heard.  Not even the sight of the bodies blocking the door could take away his elation.  Throwing his shoulder against it, he pushed with all of his strength.

The men in the other cell continued their never ending groans as the door gradually eked open.  After snagging his hat, he slid through the small opening and stuffed it on his head.  Straightening his legs, he took the first steps of his renewed freedom.

Standing in the center of the jailhouse, in a pool of the sheriff's blood, McCall looked at the guns strewn around the room and smiled.

# Chapter 9

––––––––

By the time Ellis had finished nailing the table to the door frame his clothes were drenched with sweat.  Now he was working on the windows with Anthony, but his pace had slowed considerably.

Rob and John were tending to their collapsed father, stretching him out on the floor.

"He ain't breathing!" Rob said with a panic strewn voice.  He kept caressing the old man's head, petting the bald area like someone might do to their pet.

The doctor had partially regained his wits, what was left of them, and switched to his reverend manner.

"What kind of devilry is this?" he asked over and over again.

Thumps surrounded them, as the people outside beat against the walls, windows, and tables.  Their intensity increased with every passing second, forcing everyone to question the safety provided by their makeshift fortifications.

Karen tried her best to keep calm as she stacked bags of flour and barrels of beer against the tables securing the door.  Anything that had weight to it was thrown on the pile.

She'd been attempting to analyze the situation for the past few minutes, but couldn't make any sense of what was happening.  Her friends and neighbors were walking the streets with missing limbs and bite marks on their skin, oblivious to their wounds.

Only they weren't her friends anymore; they attacked anyone they encountered that didn't suffer the same ailment.  What could turn common people into such ruthless murderers?

"Don't start preaching, Doc.  We need to figure out what's going on, not get a sermon," she said.

"This is Satan's work, I'm sure of it!"

Karen ignored him and looked at Ellis.  "Could it be some kind of disease?"

Ellis stopped hammering the nails for a moment and considered her.  "You're the one who reads all the books.  You ever hear of a disease that makes people eat each other?"

"No," she said, her shoulders slumping.

"That's because there's only one book that explains evil," Randy said.

"They had arrows sticking out of their backs. Maybe they're Injuns," Anthony said, ignoring the doctor.

"They were white men, not red.  Maybe it's an Injun curse?" Ellis asked.

"It's a curse, but it's not Injun," Doc Randy said.

"Curses aren't real," Karen said.  "But those arrows do point to them coming from the reservation.  Maybe the Sioux are suffering from the same thing."

Everyone stood in silence, contemplating the situation.

"Rabies!" Karen shouted.

"What the hell do babies have to do with anything?" Anthony asked.

"Not babies, rabies.  With an r.  Have you ever seen a dog go mad?  Frothing at the mouth and biting anything in its way?  That's rabies.  Maybe this is some kind of variation."

She could see that nobody was following her.

"Did anyone recognize the woman they were eating?  Was she a local or did she come with them?" Karen asked.

No one spoke up.

"Dave, where did you put her?" Karen asked.  The woman had slipped her mind during the chaos.

Dave's head lolled to the side.  He looked worse with each passing minute.

"I carried her upstairs and put her in one of the girls' rooms.  She was so eaten up; I couldn't bear having her down here where I'd have to see her.  Hurt my leg getting her up there too."

"We should take a look at her.  Maybe there's some kind of−"

A scream from the second floor cut Karen off.

"That was Lauren!" Ellis said.  He dropped his jar of nails, scattering its contents, and started across the room to the stairs.

"He's getting up," John said from behind Karen.  "I knew he was going to be okay."

Zed sat up with a groan, as if the movement took a great effort.  He pivoted his head in a slow, fitful manner and looked at Karen.  His appearance resembled the people outside trying to force their way into the saloon; black, dead eyes and translucent skin.

"Get away from him!" Karen looked around for a weapon and saw nothing.  "Ellis, wait!  We need you over here!"

"What are you talking about?  He's my father," Rob said.  "Come on, Pa.  Let's get you a drink."

Swaying around, Zed turned his lifeless gaze at his son.

In that instant, recognition spread across Rob's face.  He was struck by the realization that his father wasn't right, but that moment of clarity came too late.

Zed pounced on his son, sinking his rotting teeth into the unshaven tissue of Rob's neck.  Blood arced through the air, spurting out of the wound as Zed pulled his head back, shaking the flesh hanging from his teeth like a dog with a toy.

John grabbed his father by the shoulders and pulled him away from his marred brother.  When Zed bit at his hand, John shoved him away, sending him to the ground, and turned back to his sibling.

"Robbie?" he asked.  He had an odd confusion in his mannerisms, as if he didn't understand what was happening.

Rob had managed to crawl a few feet away, but was now lying motionless on the floor as blood squirted rhythmically from his gashed throat.

Karen sidestepped across the room, standing between Zed and Barbara, protective instinct guiding her.

"Watch out!" Ellis said, stomping past them.

Zed had stumbled back to his feet and was advancing at his boys again.  Ellis dropped his shoulder into John, throwing him aside, before falling on Zed with the hammer.

Ellis' momentum and heft bowled the older man over, sending him to the floor once again.  The sun flashed from the head of the hammer as it rose and fell, over and over on Zed's chest.  The reports of splintering bones filled the room.

John, recovered from his shove, grappled with Ellis, trying to pull him away from his father.  The massive men looked like two bears wrestling on their hind legs.

"Get off me!  He ain't your old man anymore!  Look at him!" Ellis pointed at Zed, who was struggling to a standing position.  His chest had caved in from the hammer blows, his ribcage bowing inward.

Karen couldn't understand how he could still be alive.  None of his organs could have been functioning properly, yet he continued to move about.

Ceasing his struggle, John gaped in horror as his father approached them with his mouth nipping at the air.

"He killed your brother!  That ain't your father!"

Ellis descended upon the elderly man again, this time sinking the claw end of the hammer in the top of Zed's head.

One last groan escaped him before his body fell to the side and lay silent on the floor.

"Pa!" John said, fumbling at the hammer.  "You killed him!"

Ellis looked down at the man whose entire family had been killed in the past thirty seconds.  "He's not getting back up... "

Karen watched Zed's body, waiting for it to stir.

"What's keeping him down this time?" Ellis asked.

"You hit him in the head instead of the body. Is that it?" Karen asked.

"What kind of devilry is this?" Randy screamed from the back of the room.  His voice would soon hit notes that humans couldn't hear.

"Shut up, you damned fool!" Karen said.

There was enough going on without having to deal with that idiot.

"You killed my father," John said again, defeat in his voice.

Karen stared at Zed, unable to fathom what could turn a man feral in a matter of moments.  And why only him?  If it was a disease, how did that translate into surviving his chest being caved in?

Anthony had edged to the bar by Dave, giving a wide berth to the decimated family.  "Get up.  There's too much going on for you to keep lying around."

Dave didn't move.

"Get up, damn it," Anthony said, cuffing Dave on the side of his head.

Even though Karen was on the other side of the room, she could see that something wasn't right.  "Anthony, I don't think I'd−"

Dave's eyes flashed open.  Turning his head, he settled his inanimate gaze on Anthony.

"Dave?"  Anthony took a tentative step back.

Lifting his arms in Anthony's direction caused him to roll from the bar, bouncing off the stools that sat beside it, and land on the floor.

The raspy, wheezing sounds coming from him made Karen's heart drop.

Dave plodded toward Anthony, his black eyes devoid of anything human.

Ellis reached for the hammer embedded in Zed's head, but John fought against him.

"You don't touch him!"  John wailed as he pushed Ellis' arms away.

Anthony moved backward, trying to distance himself from Dave, but tripped over a chair and fell on the shattered glass of a bottle.

Excruciating cries escaped him as he tried to roll away from the jagged pile.

The fresh blood sent Dave into a frenzy. He seized his boss, gnawing at the front of his shirt, forcing Anthony further into the alcohol covered glass.

"Dave!  No!"  His cries turned to whimpers as the pain in his back sapped his strength.  Dave would overpower him within seconds.

Karen felt a surge of energy flow through her as she moved across the room.  The sounds of turmoil surrounding her were drowned by the thunder of her racing heart.

She grabbed the back of Dave's shirt, attempting to yank him away from Anthony.  Dave's derangement proved stronger as he continued crawling forward.

"Dave, stop!  Please!"  She kicked at his arms and back, frantically trying to get Anthony free.  Dave ignored her as he might a fly buzzing past him.

"Help me!" Anthony was losing the battle; Dave was inches from his throat.

Spotting the leg of a broken table, Karen snatched it from the floor and noticed a long, bent nail protruding from the top.  Lifting it above her head, she took a position by Anthony's shoulder.

She hesitated.

Even though he wasn't the smartest man in the world, she had a soft spot for Dave.  He'd spent most of his life being pushed around and looked down upon, but never let it sour his spirit.  If anyone in Gehenna didn't deserve this fate, it was him.

"Dave, please!"

"Do it!" Anthony cried.

"I'm sorry, David." Karen heard herself speaking, as if the words came from someone else.  She swung the table leg with both hands like she was splitting a log.  The nail punctured the back of Dave's head; a thunk reverberated in the saloon as wood connected with skull.

Barbara was screaming somewhere behind her, but the sound was dull and distant.  Looking down at Dave, a man that was her friend only minutes before, caused bile to rise once again.  This time she couldn't stop it.

Her midsection contracted so hard she thought she'd never breathe again.  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued to dry heave long after her stomach was empty.

Ellis and John stopped fighting.  Their shocked faces followed Karen as she stumbled around.

The knots entangling her insides loosened enough for her to take a seat at the bottom of the stairs.  She watched through watery eyes as Ellis dragged Dave's body away from his boss.

Anthony whimpered as he tried to roll away from the glass.  Judging from the amount of blood soaking his shirt, the cuts must have covered most of his back.  Ellis carefully led him over to where Doctor Randy sat against the wall, babbling scripture to himself.

"Barbara," Ellis said over his shoulder.

The sound of his voice cut through the fog that was descending on Karen.

"Get some sheets from the closet and cover these poor bastards."

John stood in the center of room, gazing stupidly at the increasing amount of bodies.

While Barbara busied herself with that task, heavy sobs still racking her body, Ellis ripped the back of Anthony's shirt open to expose his lacerations.  Fortunately, the doc stopped blathering long enough to inspect them.

"Bring me my bag; I need my instruments," he said.  "And bring another bottle of your finest."

Ellis walked across the room, but didn't get the doctor's bag.  Instead he grabbed a stool and carried it behind the bar.

"Get it yourself. I got business to take care of."

Standing on the stool, he reached above the mirror mounted on the wall opposite the bar and grabbed the two Civil War swords mounted on a plaque.  They would have been of great use a few minutes ago, but there had been no time to fetch them.

"Where are you going?" Karen asked.

"Lauren hasn't come downstairs since she screamed.  We're going to check on her."

"We?"

"You're coming with me.  Everyone else is hurt or lost their mind," he said, stepping from the stool with a sword in each hand.  "These are older than dirt, but they're still sharp as hell."

"And what good do you think I'll do?"

"You're handling this madness better than any of us.  I'll take care of anything we come across, but I need someone watching my back."

Karen looked back at Barbara.  She had resumed huddling in the corner, her sobs devolved to quiet weeping.

"She'll be okay.  We won't be long," Ellis said.

Karen took one of the swords from him, surprised at how light it was, and started for the stairs, uncertain of what lay ahead.

The continuous pounding of the infected surrounding the building didn't help her confidence.

# Chapter 10

––––––––

Mad Dog McCall was loaded for bear.

Two gun belts crisscrossed his waist, each holding a six shooter.  A lever action Winchester rifle sat against his back, held in place by its leather sling.  He held a beat up double barrel shotgun in his left hand.  The tomahawk, which he'd wrenched from the woman's head, was secured in a hoop hanging just below the pistol on his right.

Two ammo belts, one over each shoulder, overlapped in the center of his chest.  One held shotgun shells, with bullets for his pistols resting in the other.  He'd stuffed his pockets full of rifle rounds.

His Peacemaker, tucked inside the front of the pants, felt as reassuring as always.  He'd need all the luck he could get to flee this town, and his Colt had always brought him the best of it.

After freeing himself from the cell, he'd closed the front door as quietly as possible.  He'd snuck a peak outside first and didn't like what he'd seen.

Hundreds of people staggered around the town in the aimless, drunken stupor that he'd come to recognize.  Even with all this firepower his chance of survival in the street was slim.

Checking the situation at the back door yielded the same result; monsters everywhere.  While stocking up on guns and ammunition, he'd spotted a trap door above the sheriff's desk that led to the roof.  It didn't have any steps, but was only seven feet above the desk.

Taking the tomahawk from its loop, McCall walked over to the barrels of black powder and started hacking at the closest one.  Three or four swipes opened a hole several inches wide.

Dropping the axe back into its place, he kicked the barrel over, spilling gunpowder on the floor.  Walking to the other side of the jailhouse, he grabbed a lantern that he'd already lit and jumped onto the desk.  Reaching through the open door in the ceiling, he placed the lantern on the roof, followed by his shotgun.

Hopping to the floor, he grabbed the open barrel of gunpowder and led a trail from the other kegs to the desk.  Throwing the barrel back with the others, he grabbed boxes of ammunition and dumped them all over the floor and the powder kegs.  After emptying everything in sight he gave the room one more cursory glance, confirming he had everything he'd need.

Satisfied, he lifted the tomahawk from its loop and proceeded to the front door.  Easing it open, he peeked out, ensuring nothing stood too close.  Only one, of what he now thought of as 'moaners', walked within a dozen feet.

Throwing the door open, he stepped through and brought the axe down on the crown of the nearest man.  The corpse dropped to the ground, kicking up billows of dust that McCall could barely make out in the darkening street.

"Who's hungry?" he shouted into the coming night.

Every moaner in sight turned at the sound of his voice.

"Come and get it!"

Hundreds of men, women, and children teetered in his direction, intent on doing just that.

McCall struck down the first two that arrived in quick succession, waiting as long as possible to spring his trap.  As more closed in, he turned and marched back into the jailhouse.

Jumping onto the desk, he grabbed the door's frame and began hoisting himself through the opening.  The wood under his hands felt spongy; it suffered from severe rot and immediately crumbled under his weight.

His legs swung out from under him as he fell to the sheriff's desk, the rifle slung across his back digging into muscle and bone.  Air whooshed from his lungs upon impact, sending bursts of light across his field of vision.

Three moaners ambled through the front door, one after the other, as Mad Dog writhed on the desk, sipping in air.  Forcing himself to his feet, he grabbed another section of the roof and felt it break off in his hands.

He tried to curse, but he didn't have enough of a breath to form the word.

Clutching at the other side of the door's frame proved more successful.  His strength hadn't recovered though, and he struggled to pull himself up.  The moaners clawed at his pants, their nails snagging on the seams.

A young boy, no more than twelve, tried to take a bite out of his calf.  He couldn't get a grip on Mad Dog's legs because one of his arms was missing.  It appeared to have been chewed off.  McCall kicked him in the face and pulled himself up with what little strength he could muster, succeeding on willpower.

Rolling to his back, he stared at the star filled sky, trying to remember how to breathe.  A light breeze blew across his face that he normally would have found refreshing, but today it brought the smell of death.

Finally able to take a few breaths, McCall rolled to his side and looked through the hole in the roof.  The jailhouse was stuffed with moaners.  They were wall to wall, tripping over one another and sliding on the bloody floor.

A few shambling feet kicked at Mad Dog's custom black powder fuse, alarming him as it rapidly thinned.

Grabbing the shotgun and lantern, he stood over the trapdoor.  Sneering at the monstrosities below, he raised the kerosene lamp.

"See you in Hell."

Hurling it at the desk, he watched the smashed lantern send fire three feet in every direction.  A dozen of the closest people were set ablaze.  Turning on his heels, McCall sprinted across the roof, vaulting onto the adjacent building.

The explosion was larger than he anticipated.  The concussion from the blast propelled him through the air, crashing him against the chimney on the far side of the next building.

What remained of the jailhouse burned like wildfire.  Flaming debris flew in every direction, landing on the neighboring homes and shops.  The buildings on either side of the jail, and the one across the street, were already afire with plumes of smoke clouding the night sky.

The deafening roar of thousands of firing rounds of ammunition shook the town like an earthquake.  Bullet riddled wood collapsed in on itself, causing a porch across the street to crumble in burning ruin.

The flames illuminated the entire area, displaying the chaos in the street.  Many of the moaners careened around as fire devoured them.  Streaks of blood and unrecognizable piles of tissue were scattered in every direction, shredded by the munitions.

Despite severed limbs and dismembered bodies, several of the man-eaters continued to drag themselves along.  Beyond the spreading fire, McCall could see even more approaching, attracted by the explosion and the flames.

He'd wiped out a large group of them but attracted a giant horde in the process.

Getting to his feet, he checked the mobility of his shoulder, unsure of the damage the chimney had done.  Everything seemed to work properly, but he could already feel stiffness in the joint.

Typically the streets would be dimly lit with lanterns, but tonight was an exception as everyone was preoccupied with eating one another.  The massive fire McCall started had the fortunate, if unintended, consequence of illuminating much of the town.

Continuing across the rooftops, he worked his way down the street.  He did his best to avoid detection by sticking to the shadows and keeping his footsteps as light as possible.  The weight of the armory strapped to his body made the process difficult, but he refused to relinquish any of his weapons.

Reaching the end of the block, he stopped at the edge of the last building and sat on the peak of the sloped roof.

Escaping the cell bought him some time, but the situation in this town had gone to hell.  The moaners moved in a slow, jagged style, making it possible to outrun them.  But there were just too many; he wouldn't get more than a few hundred feet before the sheer number of them overwhelmed him.

Damage to their head seemed to be the only viable attack, making it much more difficult to shoot his way out.  The scattergun would be devastating at close range, but it only handled two shells at a time, rendering it ineffective in a group of them.  The rifle would be great at a distance, but lousy up close.  The pistols were his best bet if he got surrounded, but he wouldn't hit anything beyond twenty feet.

McCall didn't like his chances.  Even if he could get clear of the town, without a horse he wouldn't make it far.  When the sun rose he'd be no better than meat roasting on a spit.

Then he heard the woman's screams.  They were coming from across the street, in the saloon.

# Chapter 11

––––––––

Shadows flicked across every surface, playing tricks on Karen's eyes.

The candle in her hand shook uncontrollably as she inched down the hallway.  She tried to calm herself by taking deep breaths, but her hand quivered away, and the shadows continued their horrible dance.

The second floor consisted of two hallways that were connected by another that ran perpendicular to them.  The stairs joined that third hall in the middle, where Karen now stood, trying to block out thoughts of what she had done to Dave.

There were six bedrooms upstairs, three to the left and three to the right.  Ellis had insisted that she stand at the intersection of the hallways, watching to the right, as he checked the rooms to the left.  He had proceeded down the hall and around the corner before she could argue that they couldn't help each other if they weren't together.

She was still standing there, waiting for his return, when she heard it; a clicking sound, like someone biting their nails. Karen angled her ear forward, listening, trying to ignore the perverse shadows.  Silence.  The sound had been so quick and unexpected that she couldn't tell where it came from.

She looked toward the corner Ellis had gone around, hoping he would return soon.

"Ellis?"

Click.

It came from the hallway to the right.

Was that Lauren?  The bloodcurdling scream from earlier didn't suggest all was well with her.  What if she died while Karen stood here, waiting for a man to come and take care of a friend in need?

Hating her pigheadedness, she moved to the end of the hall, peeking around the corner.  Even with the flame of her candle, she couldn't see more than a few feet in front of her.  Edging into the next hallway, she slowly moved toward the closest door.

Click.

She tried to control her breathing, which came in short, loud bursts.  There wouldn't be much point in sneaking around if she sounded like a snorting bull.

Slinking the last few feet, she arrived at the first bedroom.  The door was pulled most of the way closed, but not far enough to latch in place.

Holding the candle as close to the opening as possible, she tried to see inside.  Only a slice of light made it through, shining across the top of a bed.

Using her foot, Karen eased the door open.  The line of light expanded, showing the rest of the bed and a battered dresser in the far corner.  Her legs stiffened as she tried to step into the room, refusing to go further.  Her nerves were shot, and her body was reacting to the stress.

She cursed her weakness.  Playing the helpless woman always pissed her off.  Lifting the sword in her right hand, she stepped across the threshold.

The room used to belong to another working girl, Charlotte, but no one had seen her in months.  One morning everyone woke up and she was gone.  She'd packed up all of her things and skipped town sometime during the night.  The room had been empty ever since.

Dust covered the dresser and bedding.  A dank, moldy smell seemed to permeate everything.  Lifting the candle around the room, she inspected all the corners and behind the door.

Then she spotted the footprints on the dusty floor.  She'd partially obscured some of them as she searched the room, but could still follow their course.  They stopped beside the bed.  A path cut through the dust, with one foot appearing to drag slightly with every step.

Click.

Her hand shook so violently that hot wax spilled across her wrist.

"Damn!"

This time she could tell it came from further down the hall.  She turned to leave the room before deciding to examine under the bed anyway.

The creak of the floorboards made her jump even though she was the one that made them do so.

"Stop being a coward, Karen," she whispered to herself.

She knelt beside the bed and threw the blankets from the side, cringing at what she might find.  Nothing.

Click.  Several of them.

Closing the door behind her, Karen crept down the hall to the second room.  This was Lauren's.

A couple of months earlier, a client offered to whisk Karen away from Gehenna and take care of her on his ranch.  He was a good man with a lot of land and a decent business.  It would have been a good life.

As usual, her stubbornness kept her from making a smart decision.  She refused because she couldn't bear the thought of relying on a man to take care of her.  Everyone in the saloon, shocked by his proposal, admonished her for weeks over the decision.

Now, instead of drinking sweet tea on a beautiful ranch, she was wielding a sword and trying not to piss herself.

The door to Lauren's room stood ajar.  Karen caught a whiff of something rancid.  The stench smelled like a combination of blood, perfume, and shit.

An explosion rocked the building, vibrating through the floor and into her legs.  The shock of it nearly caused her to drop the candle.

"What in God's name was that?"

Something landed on the roof above her with a thud.  She instinctively ducked her head, bracing for more.  A couple of smaller bangs hit a few seconds later, before the eerie silence returned.

Karen could hear Barbara shrieking downstairs.  Regaining what little composure she had left, Karen pushed on. As she approached the doorway, she gagged from the putrid odor.  She could see thick blood covering the bed from the hallway.  Not wanting to go any further, she looked down the hallway in the direction she'd come from.

"Ellis?"  She tried to keep her voice low, not wanting to disturb whatever had caused the bloodshed.  He didn't respond.  "Damn."

Gathering her remaining courage, Karen stepped into the room.  She was squeezing the handle of the sword with such force that her fingers ached.

Advancing to the bed, she could see the unkempt blankets were soaked through.  Rivulets of blood ran down the side of the bed, pooling on the floor, and running with the cracks in the boards.

On the far side of the room, barely visible above the bedding, Karen saw a piece of fabric the same color as Lauren's skirt.

Rounding the bed, she gasped at the sight of Lauren's disfigured body.  The throat hadn't just been ripped apart; it was gone entirely.  Her head didn't appear to be attached by much more than her spinal cord and some skin.

Click.  Much closer this time.  Inside the room.

Karen spun wildly in the direction of the sound, extinguishing her candle in the process.  As the light blinked out, she caught a glimpse of the woman they'd saved in the street, lurching through the door.

Dropping the candle, Karen held the saber with both hands, swinging it back and forth to ward off the monster.

"Ellis!" she screamed, her voice cracking from the force.

Clicking, drawing closer.

"Ellis!"

Closer.

"Get your fat ass in here!"

Her last swing struck meat, the tip of the sword slicing through and exiting the other side.  Karen kept swinging.

Click. Right in front of her face.

The sword sunk in, lodged in what Karen assumed was the woman's torso.  Hands clawed at her throat as she tried to pull the saber free.

"Karen?"  Ellis' voice came from down the hall.

Trying to retreat, Karen stumbled over Lauren's legs and fell onto her body.  Her fingers plunged into the depth that had been Lauren's throat, touching a viscous substance.  Crying out in revulsion, she withdrew further until her back landed against the wall.

Light flickered from the doorway, dim at first, but rapidly growing brighter.

Click. By her feet.

"Karen?  Where are you?"

"In Lauren's room!"

Enough light seeped through to reveal the woman's silhouette.  She was almost on top of Karen.  Pulling her legs to her chest, she thrust them at the barely visible head.

Her right foot connected with the woman's face, knocking her back.

Ellis appeared in the doorway, the flame of his candle dangerously close to going out.  His chest heaved from running through the halls.  His eyes nearly bugged from their sockets when he saw the woman attacking Karen.

"How can this be?"

As the candle flame lengthened, Karen saw the source of the clicking.  She had seen one of the men tearing away at the woman's left cheek, revealing her teeth.  Without the muffling effect of that skin, her teeth produced a loud click as she hungrily chomped at the air.

"Don't ask questions, help me!"

Ellis crossed the room in two strides, his ample belly jiggling as he went, and swung the sword.  The top of her head flew across the room, sliced away by the powerful blow.  The crown bounced off the wall above Karen and landed on the floor beside her.

The woman's body fell forward, straddling Lauren's.

"Oh, Lauren," Ellis said, noticing her for the first time.

Karen sat against the wall, shaking uncontrollably.  Tears poured down her cheeks, leaving clean streaks on her dirty face.

Ellis stepped across the corpses, set the candle on the bed, and held his free hand out to Karen.  "Come on; let's get you out of here.  Don't look at them."

Karen tried to speak but couldn't find the words.  Hooking her arm around his, she stood on unstable legs, eyes everywhere but her butchered friend.

After moving her away from the mess, Ellis grabbed the candle from the bed and handed it to her.

"I'm sorry it took me so long.  Every time I tried to run the candle almost went out."

The shakes hadn't left Karen yet and she was having trouble keeping a grip on the small candle holder.

"Stay right here.  Don't run off again."  He turned back to the room.

Karen grabbed his arm.  "Don't leave me out here!"

"I need to cover Lauren.  She deserves better, but that's the best we can do for now."

Karen stood in the hall, watching the shadows waltz over the walls.  She felt numb all over.

Ellis emerged from the room a few moments later with both sabers.  The realization of what had just happened seemed to be settling in; his face was drained of its rosy color.

"Dave must have been wrong. She couldn't have been dead.  He wasn't the smar−" He stopped himself mid-sentence, not wanting to speak ill of the dead.

"She looked deader than a door nail to all of us," Karen said.

"The dead don't rise and walk.  It just can't be."

Karen wasn't sure that could be taken off the table at this point.  After what she'd seen today, anything seemed possible.

# Chapter 12

––––––––

The spreading fire was working on the building next to the one McCall sat upon.  Before long he'd be sitting on the roof of an inferno.

At the pace the blaze was growing, the entire town would be a cinder by tomorrow.

McCall studied the saloon across the street.  The front door and windows were boarded up.  Someone in there had a head on their shoulders at least.  Maybe he could hole up there until sunrise.

The scream gave him pause though.  Had the moaners breached the place?  A backdoor maybe?

Even if they were inside, what other choice did he have?  Every other business and home he could see were infested with mutilated, yet still walking, people.  And the building he was on would soon be in flames.

The boarded up saloon gave him a chance.  He hoped.

Leaning as far over the side of the roof as possible, McCall looked down the side street that ran the length of the saloon, trying to find a way in that wouldn't get him eaten alive.  There were a few windows on the second level, but none on the first.

A ladder stood against the building on the other side of the alley.  It looked to be high enough to reach the windows.

Leaning back against the roof, McCall eased down the slope.  He moved his feet carefully, trying not to make any sound or disturb the shingles.  As he approached the edge, he turned sideways, placing his right foot on the edge of the last shingle.

Peering down the front, he was disheartened to see the roof of the porch was at least ten feet away.  And it sat at an angle steeper than the one he was on now.  There was no way he could stick the landing, even if he dangled his feet over the edge to lessen the distance.

Deciding to find another way down, he turned away from the edge and started climbing back to the peak.  The shingle under his right foot dislodged and flew over the side.  Thrown off balance, McCall didn't have time to react before his chest bounced off the roof and he started sliding down.

His free hand frantically searched the roof for any kind of purchase.  Not finding one, he flattened his body as much as possible; stretching his four limbs out like a giant X, hoping the friction would stop his descent.

Clearing the edge, his legs dangled in the air, kicking as he tried to clamber back up.

Then he was falling.  His feet hit the roof of the porch first, but the angle of it threw him off balance and he fell backward.  Pain shot up his back as his tailbone struck the hard wood shingles.

The impact loosened his grip on the shotgun, sending it flying to the street below.  McCall's muscles constricted as he tumbled head over feet off the porch.

A moaner shambled in the direction of the fires, oblivious of the man free falling in the air above him.  All of McCall's weight landed on the monster, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Mad Dog's head slammed against the hard, cracked earth.  Flashes of light swam across his spinning vision as he fought to get his bearings.  The man that broke his fall was squirming beneath him, trying to get a mouthful of McCall's leg.

Rolling away with the elegance of a drunk, McCall stopped in a seated position, facing the moaner.

Its vacant eyes bore into his own, surveying its next meal.  Slithering forward, it lunged at his foot.

Lifting his leg up, McCall brought his heel down on the back of its head, embedding his boot spur in its skull.

It dropped face first to the ground, its limbs racked with spasms.

Kicking his leg away, he tore the spur loose.  A circle of gore flew away as it spun on the back of his boot.  McCall stood on wobbly legs, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.

Several of the closest moaners moved in on him, chomping their teeth in anticipation.  Others, further away, hadn't seen or heard him and continued toward the blaze.

The shotgun had landed close to the middle of the street, less than ten feet away.  The nearest moaner stepped over it, his nonfunctioning right leg trailing behind, pulling the scattergun along.

Not wanting the racket of a gunshot to attract everything in the town, McCall pulled the tomahawk free of its loop and advanced on the beast.  As he drew near it became obvious why its leg wasn't working: most of its thigh had been eaten away.

The man's arms were outstretched, partially protecting his head.  Ducking down, McCall swung the axe at the chewed leg, connecting with bone and what was left of the meat.

The tomahawk went all the way through, creating a sickening sound like the snapping of a celery stick, as the leg cut away.

Grabbing the shotgun, McCall hustled across the street without looking back.  As he approached the side of the saloon, two more moaners, a man and a woman, noticed him and shifted in his direction.

Dropping his axe back into its cradle, he lifted the shotgun with both hands and brought the butt down in the face of the man without breaking stride.  The woman, who didn't have any outward signs of physical damage, fell back, landing on the porch of the saloon.

If it wasn't for her black, soulless eyes and stiff-legged gait, McCall would have thought she was another survivor.

The second person grabbed at him, missing completely, and fell forward into the street.

McCall ran into the alley, brushing past more people.  The ladder, sitting against the building on the other side of the street, looked much heavier than it had from the roof.

Grabbing one end of it with his free hand, he realized it wasn't going to be an option.  He dropped it back to the ground and continued around the side of the building, looking for another way in.

The rear of the saloon was much darker than the front.  Just enough light bounced from the neighboring buildings for him to see.  The back door was boarded up in the same manner as the front, and was swarming with moaners anyway.  Using the shotgun, he pushed a bulbous fat man away and spotted a stack of firewood on the side of the rear porch.

Five people, each with grievous wounds, stood between the wood pile and McCall.  Twenty more bumbled around in the general vicinity.  There were too many to use the axe; they would over take him before he could fight his way through.

Marching forward, Mad Dog raised the shotgun to his shoulder and aimed at head height, pointing toward the middle of the crowd.

The deafening blast knocked the three men in the center to the ground, brain matter splattering the wood and porch behind them.  The gun's roar echoed throughout the alley, alerting everything west of the Mississippi of his presence.

Stepping through the tangled limbs of the dead, McCall accelerated at the stack, intent on launching from it to the roof of the porch.

Bounding from the lower logs, he pushed off the upmost piece, which stood only five or six feet from the first shingle.  The wood shifted under his weight, halting his momentum.  His stomach landed flush against the edge, sending stabs of pain through his ribcage.

The shingles on this building were less faded and newer, not giving under his weight.  Tossing the shotgun ahead of him, he used both hands to pull his way up.  A few more inches and he could swing one of his dangling legs over and roll up.

Beneath him, dozens of moaners gathered around, stumbling around the knocked over logs.  One of them had managed to get close enough to grab McCall's leg.

Without a solid handhold, his progress was eroded as he slid back down. He kicked his feet wildly, trying to dislodge his leg from the cannibal's grip.  Another couple of inches and his weight would carry him the rest of the way down.

The creature's fingers sliced on his spur but continued to pull.  More people gathered around, reaching for McCall's other leg.

Above him, the double barrel shifted, skidding against the shingles.  It stopped a few feet away.

Lifting his right hand, McCall hoped it would fall to him, praying it would arrive before he became someone's early breakfast.

His body slid two more inches, balancing precariously on the brink of no return.  Looking down, he saw too many rows of chomping teeth to count.

He always assumed he'd be gunned down by a drunk, or shot in the back by the marshals that pursued him.  Never had he imagined he'd be eaten to death by the common townsfolk of a shithouse like Gehenna.

Closing his eyes, he waited for the inevitable.  As he mentally prepared for the agony that what was about to come, the shotgun bumped against his fingers.  His hand shot open as if spring-loaded.

Grabbing the double barrel, he pointed it blindly behind him, aiming in what he hoped was the general direction of the moaner pulling at his leg.  The firearm's massive kick sent reverberations up his arm, nearly breaking his grip.

The hands clawing at his leg fell away, giving him precious seconds before a new set could latch on.  He tossed the shotgun onto the roof and scampered up, swinging his legs to gain momentum.

Throwing his leg over the side, he rolled onto his back.  Short, ragged breaths shook his body as he lay there trying to regain his composure.  The shotgun skidded to a stop against his arm.

Getting to his feet, McCall looked over the swarm of moaners below him, arms raised in the air, swaying and stretching like a bizarre prayer.  More packed in behind them.

Picking up the shotgun, he broke the action open, pulled the shells from the barrels, and stuffed two more in from one of the ammo belts across his chest.  Turning away from the growing horde, he scaled the small roof and peeked in the window.

The darkness was too thick to see much of anything.  Using the butt of the gun, he smashed the window, sending glass into the black room.

Ever since he was a boy he'd kept matches in his back pocket, a habit his father had taught him. He pulled one free and struck it against the shingles.  The brief flair exposed a horrific bedroom.  The sheets strewn across the bed were saturated with blood and chucks of flesh.  One of those things had been to work, but didn't appear to be in the room anymore.

Dropping the match, he broke away a couple of jagged pieces of glass with the stock of the shotgun and stepped through.  His foot landed on a soft, wet surface which shifted under his weight.  Poking the toe of his boot around, he found the hard surface of the floor and entered the bedroom.

Striking another match, he looked at his feet and saw the body of a woman.  Or at least what used to pass for one.  Entire sections of her face were missing and the top of her head had been cut off.

McCall spotted her scalp against the wall to his right.  A bloody sheet was discarded by the open door.  The match singed his fingers, causing him to drop it to the floor with an obscenity.  Striking another, he proceeded across the room and into the hallway.

# Chapter 13

––––––––

"What the hell was that explosion?" Ellis asked, taking another shot of whiskey.

Karen had put down a few herself, trying to rid herself of the shakes.

Anthony stood on a chair by one of the windows, looking over the table nailed to it.  His back was hunched over, his deep lacerations visible through his shredded shirt.

"That was the jailhouse.  It's just... gone.  Hell, the whole street is burning like kindling," he said.

"What do you mean it's gone?" Karen asked.

"I mean it's gone.  Nothing there but a crater full of burning wood.  Guess the sheriff and deputy didn't make it."  He coughed a few times, wincing at the pain in his back.  "My store is starting to go up now too."

Ellis walked to the door and peered over the barricade.  "The entire street is lit up like it's noon out there."  He gasped as he looked from right to left.  "We ain't gettin' out of here," he whispered.

"Now what?"  Karen was unsure if she could handle any more bad news.  She'd already lost most of her friends.

"The entire town is out there."

"Are they... like them?" she asked.

"Yeah.  Like them.  All of them."  He turned back to Karen. "How many people live in Gehenna?"

"Over two thousand."

"That makes it official then.  We're fucked."

"We're reaping what we've sown!" Randy sat in a chair behind Anthony, drinking himself stupid from a bottle of Ellis' rotgut.  "The whoredom and sins of this town have brought the Lord's wrath upon us."

Karen rolled her eyes, wishing she could break that bottle over his head.  She believed in God, like everyone else, but didn't see Him as the vindictive son of a bitch that Randy thought He was.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, wench!  Your disregard of God's will has wrought this Hell."

Ellis lifted a hand to quiet the doctor to no avail.

"You shall not silence me!  God warned us, in Leviticus 26:28, and we didn't listen.  'Then I will walk contrary unto you also in fury; and I, even I, will chastise you seven times for your sins.  And ye shall eat the flesh of your sons, and the flesh of your daughters shall ye eat.  And I will destroy your high places, and cut down your images, and cast your carcasses upon the carcasses of your idols, and my soul shall abhor you.  And I will make your cities waste, and bring your sanctuaries unto desolation, and I will not smell the savor of your sweet odors.'"

The room grew silent as everyone contemplated the implications of the passage.  Anthony and Ellis stared at him with astonishment.  Even Barbara had stopped sobbing and looked up from the corner.

John was a major concern for Karen.  He hadn't said a word since they came downstairs.  He merely sat beside Randy, soaking in everything he said.

"The Bible says that?" Anthony asked.

Karen didn't like the direction this was taking.  They had more important things to consider than Bible scripture.

When she was a child, her father always told her that God would protect His faithful and punish the wicked.  She'd believed it whole heartedly until the day that he didn't come back from a visit to town.

A bandit had shot him dead while he stood in line at the bank.  He'd taken the bullet in the back, never even having a chance to surrender himself.

Her faith in the protection and punishment of God disappeared and never came back.  Since that day, she'd sworn to live her life in the manner she saw fit.  She and God would even up when they met one day.

"Oh yes.  This has all been foretold, and now it's coming to pass."

Not wanting to get involved in a religious debate, Karen walked across the room and sat beside Barbara.

"Barb," Karen started, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.  "Lauren's dead."

Barbara's face scrunched inward as she began to bawl again, cradling her head in her arms.  "What happened?" she asked between sobs.

"The woman from the street," Karen said, glancing at Doc Randy, "was infected by whatever this is, and... got her."

Randy stopped his sermon in midsentence and cocked his head at Karen.  "The woman that was eaten in the street?  You said she was dead."

"We thought she was, but apparently not."

Randy turned his eyes to Ellis. "Was she alive or not?"

Ellis looked back and forth from Karen to Randy, struggling with what he should say.

"She was dead," he said, his shoulders slumping.

Randy jumped from his seat, knocking the chair over. "The dead are rising! Zechariah 14:12!  'And this shall be the plague wherewith the Lord will smite all the people that have fought against Jerusalem. Their flesh shall consume away while they stand upon their feet, and their eyes shall consume away in their holes, and their tongue shall consume away in their mouth.  And it shall come to pass in that day, that a great tumult from the Lord shall be among them; and they shall lay hold everyone on the hand of his neighbor, and his hand shall rise up against the hand of his neighbor.'"

Barbara was visibly shaken by this.  Karen had to admit that she was spooked by the similarities between the scripture and the situation outside.

"It's a coincidence.  It has to be," Karen said, not believing the words coming out of her mouth.

"It's the end days.  Prepare your souls," Randy said.

Ellis gave Karen a pleading look.  He wanted her to provide an explanation that she didn't have.

"If the dead are rising by the power of God, why is that we can kill them?" she asked.

The blast of a gun on the other side of the wall startled everyone, interrupting Randy before he could retort.

Anthony hobbled over, wincing with each step, and stood by Ellis.

"Was that a gun?"

"Sounded like a shotgun.  Sheriff Stanley must be alive!  No one else has any guns," Ellis said.  "Maybe he blew up the jailhouse on purpose, trying to kill some of those things."

Then Rob sat up.  The stained white sheet that Ellis' laid on him remained, covering his head and body.  Large red spots seeped through from the pool of blood around his body.

A groan escaped from beneath the shrine, sending a chill down Karen's back.

The sheet pulled free as he stood, revealing the thinned, jaundice skin.  John stood up, his back sliding against the wall, where he watched with wide-eyed madness.

"Rob?  You're alive!" he said.

Karen's suspicions were confirmed: he'd lost his mind.  No sane person would think something that looks like that could be a member of the living.

Ellis didn't hesitate.  In three large steps he stood in front of the reanimated brother, intent on skewering him with the sword.

"No!"

John charged forward, tackling Ellis from behind and sending the saber sliding across the floor.

Karen cursed herself for leaving her sword on the bar.  Though it was only twenty feet away, it might as well have been on the other side of town.

John and Ellis tussled on the floor, throwing punches and kicks like wild men.

"You already killed my pa!  I ain't letting you kill my brother too!"

"He's already dead!  You saw it with your own eyes," Ellis said between labored breaths.

They rolled into the bottom step of the stairs leading to the second floor, still throwing blows at one another.

Another gunshot barked from the back of the building.

Rob pivoted around in a slow motion, as if he was moving through mud.  Karen couldn't understand why he didn't attack the helpless people against the wall instead of going after the two biggest men in the room.

Was it some kind of memory of his brother driving him in that direction?  Was it the sounds of the fight attracting him?

"Help him," she said, looking from Randy to Anthony.  "John is out of his mind!"

"I will not fight the will of God," Randy said.  He reclaimed his chair and stared at the floor, refusing to make eye contact with Karen.

Anthony gave Karen a sad, hopeless look before averting his gaze.

Rob's walking corpse was in the middle of the room, blocking Karen's path to either sword.  Her eyes frantically swept the room, trying to find the table leg she'd used earlier.  She finally spotted it sitting on the floor a few feet from where John and Ellis were trading fisticuffs.

"Rob!  Over here!" She jumped up in the air and waved her arms, trying to get his attention.

His course didn't change.  Only a few steps stood between Ellis, John and the cannibal.

She eased her way forward, wary of getting too close.  "Robert!  Turn around, damn you!"

No response outside of the expected moans.  He was on top of them now and leaned down to take a bite from Ellis' back.

Karen surged forward, throwing her small mass against Rob's knees.  His legs buckled and he toppled over her, landing on his side.  His large legs draped across her body, pinning her to the floor.

She pushed against his boots, trying to lift his massive lower body away, but didn't have the strength.

Rob sat up and grabbed her wrist, preventing her from sliding away.  As he tried to turn toward her, his legs tumbled away, giving her room to stand.

Leaning back at a steep incline, she tried to pull her trapped arm from his grasp.  He was still clambering around on the floor, trying to get to his feet.

Unable to shake his grip, she turned and stretched to her full length, trying to reach the saber sitting atop the bar.  The sword was two feet beyond her reach, teasing her.

Jerking her arm, stretching her body, and screaming in fear, Karen dragged Rob toward the bar, fighting like a caged animal.  Her fingers were inches from the sword when her progress halted.

Rob had regained his footing and was reeling in her arm while ducking his head to feast on her hand.

From the corner of her eye she spotted Lauren, standing on the bottom stair.  Her head wobbled from side to side, like grass in a high wind.  She whipped her hand from side to side, trying to wrench it away from Rob's eager mouth.

Ellis had gained a dominant position against John, using his heavy mass to pin him to the floor.

Lauren's head bobbed forward, her chin resting against her chest at an unnatural angle.  She bent down and lowered her swaying head at Ellis.

"Lauren, no!"

If she heard Karen's plea she didn't acknowledge it, and bit through Ellis' shirt and into his wide back.  Blood oozed from the sides of her mouth as she clamped down.

Ellis roared in pain.  He tried to stand up, but his arms were tangled with John's, who either didn't understand the situation or was too far gone to care.

Lauren gnawed at his back, tearing chunks away as he struggled helplessly under her.

"Ellis!" Karen cried.

Both of Rob's hands now held her forearm, immobilizing her limb.

She felt his balmy breath against her skin as he opened his mouth to take a bite.  A boom echoed through the room and the side of his head exploded, spraying its contents across the bar and her dress.  She felt drops of blood splatter over her cheek and into her hair.

Another crack and Lauren's body fell forward, slumping over Ellis' back.  Grey matter drained from a hole where her temple had been.

Karen froze in shock, staring down at the bodies laying across the floor.  She wiped at her face, staring at the red smears in her palm.  Creaks came from her neck as she turned her head and looked toward the stairs.

At the top of the steps stood a man who looked like he had just crawled from a nightmare.  He wore all black and was armed from head to toe, with gun and ammo belts hanging from every nook and cranny.

He held a pistol in his right hand with smoke trailing from the barrel.

All fighting, screaming, and crying ceased as everyone watched the man in black descend the stairs.

# Chapter 14

––––––––

After stepping through the window, he hadn't gone two steps into the hallway when he heard the fight downstairs.  Knowing better than to run headlong into danger, he crept down the hall, using more matches to light the way.

As he rounded the corner, he had enough light to see a banister leading to the lower floor.  Stopping at the top of the stairs, he studied the area below.

He spotted two moaners from his vantage point; one eating a large man's back, and another about to snack on a woman's arm.  Not wanting to blast everyone in the area with pellets, he switched the shotgun to his left hand and drew his pistol.

The man with teeth buried in him was already a dead man, he just didn't know it yet, so McCall aimed for the moaner holding the woman.  Her skin appeared to be intact, so there was a chance to save her.

Cocking the hammer back with his thumb, he put a bullet through the moaner's forehead, emptying its skull on the floor.  He quickly changed targets and gunned down the woman.

Silence filled the saloon. Everyone stared at him as if he were an apparition.  The metallic smell of gunpowder burned his nostrils as he glared back at them.  McCall holstered the pistol and gripped the double barrel with both hands, aiming in the general direction of the people by the bar.

Descending the steps, he scanned the room, looking for more moaners.  At the bottom of the stairs, two men remained in fighting positions, but were now in a temporary truce as they watched him approach.

"Get up," he said.

Neither moved.

"I won't ask again."

The man on the bottom released his grip from the massive, bleeding opponent on top of him.  The man with chunks missing from his back strained against the dead woman lying on him as he straightened out.

Her body slid to the floor and he stood up, eyeing McCall cautiously.  The other fighter stayed low to the floor and slithered backward to the other side of the room.  Mad Dog didn't like the way his eyes twitched.

"I guess we owe you our thanks," the heavy set man said.  "I'm Ellis. This is my saloon."

McCall walked around him, keeping the shotgun aimed in his general direction, and sat at the bar.  A woman stood close, with a sword a few feet from her.

"Both of you move over there with your friends."  He motioned to the other end of the room with the barrel of his gun.

For a moment it looked like the blood covered woman was going to make a move for the sword.  She looked directly into McCall's eyes, examining them, and then seemed to think better of it.

Taking in everyone against the far wall, he began to regret his decision to come here.  Everyone in this room looked drunk, crazy, or wounded.  Except maybe the woman who thought about going for the sword – he didn't know what to make of her yet.

"You're Mad Dog McCall," she said.  "I thought you'd be younger."

"I'll do the talking.  Who's been bit?"

"Just me," Ellis said, wincing at the pain in his back.

"Move against the wall by the windows," McCall said.

The man did as he was told and sat in a chair, being careful not to rest against the back.

"Ellis, your time is short," McCall said.

A solemn nod told Mad Dog that Ellis already knew his fate was sealed.

"Now what the hell is going on in this shit town?"

"It's the end of days.  God is striking down the unworthy," the drunk man said.  He took another swig from a dark colored bottle.

McCall never had much use for religion, but that didn't mean he wasn't a God fearing man.  "What are you talking about?"

"Don't listen to him.  He's a fool and a liar," the strong willed woman said.

"What's your name?" McCall asked her.

"Karen.  How did you escape from your cell?  Did you kill Sheriff Stanley?  What happened to Aaron?"

"I said I'll do the−"

"Did you blow up the jailhouse?"

McCall had never met a woman quite like this before.  Typically they shied away from him, weary of his false reputation.

"Yes, I did.  And no, I didn't kill the deputy or sheriff.  At least, not the first time."

"Don't fight the will of God.  His ways will always remain a mystery to us," the drunk said, waving his arms through the air like he was giving a sermon.

Hopping from his stool, McCall walked over to the dead man he'd shot down minutes before.

"This is the work of God?  Mindless corpses stumbling around, trying to eat those of us who are still alive?  If that's God's work, then you can keep Him."

"Blasphemer!"

"He's been going on about this for quite awhile now," Karen said.  "Randy is the doctor and reverend of the town, as you can probably tell."

"Shut your mouth, whore.  He speaks the word of God!" the crazy man said.

"I think he's right, Karen.  What else explains what's going on?" asked a young woman in the corner.  She was curled into a ball, as if that would somehow protect her.

"Barbara, no!  You can't believe this!  Just a few hours ago you thought he was an idiot," Karen said.  "Even if it is God, you can't think this asshole is His messenger."

"And you'll refer to me as Doctor or Reverend," Randy said.

"I only use titles on those who are to be respected."

McCall wished he had taken his chances in the desert.  At least out there he wouldn't have to deal with the bickering.  Ignoring them, he walked to the front door and inspected the barrier they'd constructed.

The nerve-racking moans and shuffles coming from the other side of the table added to the increasingly tense atmosphere.  Shooting his guns around and inside of the building had attracted a massive amount of them.  Now they pressed against the walls, windows, and door, slowly weakening them until they would eventually give way.

The nails were already pulling free.

"These aren't going to hold much longer," he said.

"What are we going to do?" Barbara asked.

"Accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior.  God will not harm his faithful."

"When they come piling in here, you hold up your Bible and I'll hold up my guns.  We'll see who lasts longer," McCall said.

"You killed my brother," the crazy man said.  "And now you're mocking a servant of God."  He climbed to his feet and took an aggressive stance in front of McCall.

Mad Dog reclaimed his seat by the bar and looked at his would-be attacker without a hint of concern on his face.

"Which one is your brother?  The one whose brains are all over the place?"

Growling in rage, John took a step forward.

"John, don't!" Karen said.

"John?  Listen to the woman.  After what I've gone through today, killing you isn't going to be a concern to me."  He leveled the shotgun at John's chest.  "Faith or no, you ain't bulletproof."

Karen stepped forward, temporarily defusing the situation.  "I think it's some kind of disease.  Maybe a form of rabies."

"Can rabies raise the dead?" McCall asked.  He'd seen plenty of rabid dogs in his day, but none that could live through disembowelment.

"I didn't say it was rabies exactly.  Some of the symptoms are similar though."

"Only God−"

"Yeah, we get it; God is trying to kill all of us.  Shut the hell up already," McCall said.  He expected the reverend to recommend human sacrifice soon.

The table covering the door partially dislodged, the nails popping out a full inch.

"Shit!" Karen said, running to McCall's side of the room.

He didn't try to keep her away.  Jumping off the stool, he walked backward to the stairs.

"You seem to be the only one in here that has her head on straight," he said, never taking his eyes from the door.  "You know how to shoot?"

"Of course.  But Ellis isn't a part of whatever they're becoming over there," she said, pointing to the saloon owner.

"He's bit.  It's only a matter of time before he turns against us."

"He can help us until then!"

McCall considered the situation for a moment.  "Fine, but he's on you.  Fall behind and you're on your own."

Randy pointed at Ellis.  "Stay with us and be saved.  The Lord shall protect us."

Ellis lifted his hefty frame from the chair and looked back at the doctor.  "I believe he is.  He sent us an outlaw with a bunch of guns."  Then he joined Karen and McCall by the stairs.

Mad Dog tossed him the shotgun, which he caught with his right hand before checking it for shells.

"You'll need this too," McCall said. He took off one of the belts of ammo around his body and handed it to Ellis.

"Barbara, come with us, it's our only chance!" Karen said, pleading.

In the corner, Barbara looked over her folded arms from Karen to Randy.  "God will protect me."

"Be rational.  He's leading you to your death," Karen said.  She started across the room, presumably to drag her along.

The top of the table cracked, revealing a partial set of decayed teeth.  Most of them were missing.

Karen backpedaled to the stairs, still pleading with Barbara.

"And He will damn you for turning your back on his servant!" Randy said.  He was beyond hysterical.

"What's in those barrels?  Whiskey?" McCall asked, eying three kegs beside the stairs.

"Two of them are rotgut, but that one is pure whiskey," Ellis said, pointing to the one in front.

McCall pulled his tomahawk free and punctured several holes near the bottom of the barrel, spilling its contents across the floor.

"What are you doing?" Ellis asked.

"Taking out as many of these bastards as we can."  Setting fire had helped him escape the jailhouse and he hoped it would do the same here.

The left side of the table popped free of the door frame, exposing an elderly man trying to squeeze through the small opening.  He was shirtless and most of the right side of his chest had been chewed away.

Only the pile of chairs and other objects kept the door blocked.  But that wouldn't last long.

"Barbara, please!" Karen yelled.

Then the horde broke through.  They flooded the room like water from a broken dam.  Dozens shambled toward the group of fools who thought they would be guarded from harm.

"We are believers. You may not touch us!" Randy said.

Just before they set upon him, McCall saw his smile waver as he realized his folly.  His piercing screams attracted more moaners, crowding the floor of the saloon in seconds.

"No!  Karen! Karen!" Barbara's shrieks were brief, but tore at McCall's conscience as he heard her being eaten alive.

Several of the walking corpses moved toward the stairs, outstretched arms in their ever present grabbing motion.  McCall shoved Karen and Ellis, getting them moving up the steps.

With his axe, he smashed the lantern that hung on the wall above the whiskey, sending balls of liquid fire in every direction.  Spinning on his heels, he swung the burning tomahawk at the nearest moaner.

Flames trailed behind as it sunk into the creature's temple, setting its hair ablaze.

The axe ripped from his hands as the body collapsed to the floor.  Wanting to pull it free, McCall took a step forward before three more men trampled over the body and through the pools of fire as they closed in on him.  Their tattered clothing went up like kindling as they tripped over the woman McCall shot, temporarily blocking others from following.

Angry at losing the axe, McCall turned and took the stairs two a time.

Randy's screams finally stopped as he cleared the top where Ellis and Karen stood, waiting for him.  Karen wept openly at the loss of her friends.

"Now what?" she asked, choking back sobs.

"I have no idea," McCall said.

"Are you telling me your entire plan was to go upstairs?"

"I wasn't expecting the moaners to break the door down as soon as I got here."

"And you just set the building on fire."

"Whatever you're going to do, you better make it fast.  I'm not feeling so good," Ellis said.

# Chapter 15

––––––––

Karen looked at Ellis through watery eyes, trying to keep her emotions in check.

"Is there an attic?" McCall asked.  He was watching the burning men stumble around on the stairs.

"No," Ellis said.

"What would we do in an attic?  Wait until we burned to death?" Karen asked.  She had no idea how he'd stayed on the run from the law with decision making like this.

"I came in through a window down the hall.  I didn't expect to leave the same way, but I don't see much of a choice."

With that, McCall walked into the darkness of the hallway and disappeared.

"Ok, what do we do after we climb out a window?  No wonder you're a criminal; you're an idiot," Karen said, calling after him.  She couldn't believe that she was following an incompetent outlaw.

"Could be, but he's still alive and he has guns.  Gold ain't worth as much as these guns right about now," Ellis said.  He followed McCall down the hall.

"Damn," Karen said to herself.

Moments later she was crawling through the window and looking at thirty mangled people, all wanting to tear her apart.

Ellis stood to her left, swaying slightly on his feet.  She could see the transformation in him already.  Even his smell had changed; it was similar to soured milk.

A train whistle pierced through the night, catching all of them off guard.  Karen figured it was still miles away, but would cover that distance in a matter of minutes.

McCall was on the other side of her, loading two bullets into one of his pistols.

"That train stop in Gehenna?" he asked.

"No, that's a cargo train.  Only a handful of compartments for people and they're usually for big wigs heading to the mines out west," Ellis said.

"Maybe they'll slow down when they see the entire town is burning down," Karen said.  "When they see the fires, they might even stop and let us on."

She'd wanted out of this town for years and now she may get her chance.  All it took was the deaths of her friends, the destruction of an entire town, and an incredibly contagious plague.  And all of the money she'd been saving was about to burn in its 'safe' place under a floorboard in her room.

"Maybe," Ellis said, not meeting her eyes.  "The two of you at least.  I don't think I'm going to be followin' along much further."

"There's a whole lot of moaners standing between us and the rail," McCall said, spitting off the roof.  The spittle landed in the hair of what used to be a little girl, no more than ten years old.

Karen studied him for a moment, trying to see if his attitude was a façade or if he just had a terrible personality.  She couldn't tell.

"You keep calling them 'moaners'."

"Well, they moan.  A lot."

"But the best you could come up with was 'moaners'?  What about 'the living dead', or 'the eternal hungry.'"

"I'm shooting them in face, not writing a book."

"I hate to interrupt, but we're standin' on a burnin' building and surrounded by 'the livin' dead', whatever that means.  Any ideas on how we can get to the track?  It's about three hundred yards west, at the end of town," Ellis said.

"I guess we're gonna have to shoot our way out of here.  Don't think we have enough ammo though," McCall said.  He was eerily calm, as if he were discussing the weather.  Karen didn't know if that was good or bad.

Another whistle, much closer this time, signified their need to get moving.

"I'll hop down first, since I'm already bit," Ellis said.  He coughed into his mitt of a hand.  Karen saw some blood on his palm as he wiped it across the front of his shirt.

"Ellis, there has to be some kind of−"

"We both know that getting bit is a one way ticket to a dirt nap," he said as he hunched down at the edge of the roof.  "I'm goin' to drop down and clear a spot out.  You jump down behind me," he said.

"Ellis, don't−"

"Damn it, Karen!  Listen to me for once in your life."

Tears stung her eyes yet again.  She'd cried more today than she had in her entire life.

The distance from the porch roof to the ground was about ten feet.  The problem was the throng of people that stood all around it.

Karen felt something bump against her shoulder.  Looking down, she saw the butt of the rifle that had been slung over McCall's back.  She took it from him without either saying a word.  Mad Dog pulled his other pistol from its holster.

Ellis shot first, unloading both barrels of his shotgun into the crowd.  Two of the creatures' heads exploded like a melon hit with a hammer.  He immediately fished two more shells from his ammo belt and reloaded.

Karen sighted a woman in the front.  Both of her eyes were gone; only empty, pus-filled sockets remained.  Karen shot her between them and worked the action on her rifle before aiming at a man missing most of his left hand.  His stump pointed at her as she dropped him.

McCall was shooting with alternating hands, firing one bullet from his left then shooting with his right.  He dropped three or four times as many of the monsters as Karen did, though she tried to keep up.

Because his shotgun only held two rounds, Ellis had to reload constantly.  The devastating effects from each shell made up for the lack of quantity.

The bodies piled on top of one another, covering the earth with blood, tissue, and bone fragments.

Karen anticipated the next kick from the rifle as she squeezed the trigger, but received only a click.

"Ammo!" she said to McCall, yelling above the thundering gunfire.

"Left pocket," he said.  He kept shooting as she fished the bullets out.

She marveled at the dexterity of McCall's hands as he reloaded his pistols.  It took him seconds to drop six rounds into each cylinder before a flick of his wrist snapped them into place.

Ellis fired two more shells and then stopped, peering through the smoke.

Karen couldn't see anything yet, but apparently Ellis could because he dropped from the roof and out of sight.

In the brief interlude between shots, the squealing brakes of the train cut through the night.  They were stopping, or at least slowing down.

"Come on down.  I'll catch you, but you better hurry," Ellis said.

Moving carefully, she perched on the edge, squinting through the haze.  She could barely make him out, standing in the middle of a sea of bodies.

Closing her eyes, she hopped from the ledge, falling into his open arms.  A grunt escaped him as her weight pulled against his wounded back.  Karen felt the strength drain from him as he lowered her to a small section of ground that wasn't covered with the deceased.

McCall dropped down beside her, his boot crushing a hand that protruded from the pile of bodies.  Without hesitation, he turned away from them and shot down more of the approaching dead.  He marched forward, mowing them down like a scythe through wheat.

Karen pulled more bullets from his pocket and jammed them into her rifle.  Ellis maintained their rear, blasting anything that came within five feet of them.

As they moved through the alley, Karen's heart sank at the incredible number of them.  It was clear that the entire population had been infected.

Emerging from the alley, the devastation played out in front of them.  Not only had McCall blown the jailhouse to smoldering pieces, but he'd managed to set every building in the area on fire.  Thick smoke hung in the air, billowing from the inferno.

Through the front door of the saloon, she watched in horror as her former friends stumbled around in the burning bar area, oblivious to their fate.  Chancing a few glances between shots, she saw the entire town in flames.

McCall had burned all of Gehenna to the ground − infected people and all.  She hoped there weren't any other survivors left in the blazing homes.

Ellis gave her a rough shove from behind, jolting her back to the moment.  "Keep moving!"

Her rifle had run dry again.  "Ammo." She didn't have to yell this time, as Mad Dog was reloading.

After clicking his cylinders closed, he patted his pocket.  "You're out," he said and started shooting again.

"What about your other pistol?"

"No one uses that gun but me."

"What do you mean no one−"

"It's my good luck charm.  Just stay close."

"We're going to die because you're superstitious?"

"You're still alive, aren't you?"

"I've only got six shells left!" Ellis said from behind her.

Karen examined the ammo belt draped across McCall's shoulder and didn't like what she saw.  All of the loops on the back were empty − she hoped the front wasn't as sparse.

Their pace was just above a slow jog as they sliced their way down the street.  Karen could see small reflections on the tracks another two hundred feet in front of them.  She didn't think they had enough ammo to make it.

To her left, down another alley and through the sea of bloody, mangled faces, Karen saw the train approaching the edge of the town.  It was going too fast to stop at the station, and would probably still be moving if they could meet it at the track.

A gust of wind blew the hair up on the back of her head while the boom of Ellis' shotgun threatened to deafen her.

She turned to chastise him, but stopped herself when she saw how much his condition had worsened.  Judging from her limited experience with everyone else, he had only minutes left.

"Ellis−"

His yellowed face pinched in anger at the concern on Karen's.  "Run, damn you!  You gotta get on that train.  And don't let them stop, or it's all over!"

Turning around, she saw that McCall had pulled away from them, not slowing for anything.  The street was clearing ahead of him as he neared the end of the road.  Fewer houses meant fewer cannibals.

Karen flipped the rifle around, holding the barrel in both hands, and swung at everything that drew near.  She connected with the shoulder of a large, burly man.  The impact sent shockwaves up her arm and nearly jarred the gun from her grip.  He didn't budge.

He stood a full foot taller than her, his massive frame blocking most of the light coming from the fires behind him.  The silhouette of his body scared her more than the disfigured skin it hid.

As she turned to run, his hands curled into her hair, jerking her head back.  The smell of death emanating from him made her nauseous all over again.  At the edge of her vision, Karen saw his large jowls quiver as he bent forward to tear at her forehead.

"Get away from her!" Ellis came up behind the gigantic monster and thrust the double barrel in his puffy face.  The metal pushed against his nose, bending it up like a snout.

Karen closed her eyes, bracing for the blast of shotgun.  All she heard was the anticlimactic click of a misfire.  They'd been shooting round after round since they left the saloon and the only misfire came when she was inches from becoming a late night snack.

"Shit!" Ellis stared in disbelief at the weapon in his hands.

The giant, seemingly oblivious to Ellis' presence, brushed the gun away and bit at Karen's face again.

Ellis swung the shotgun, throwing his weight behind it, and smashed it against the man's mouth.  Teeth exploded from his mouth, flying in every direction.  Karen felt his fingers loosen and she spun away.

More people swarmed her, cutting off any hope of escape.  She searched for McCall but couldn't see past the closing crowd.

"McCall, help us!"

Ellis battered the man with the gun, connecting with powerful blows that would have killed a normal human being.  This thing, as big as it was, absorbed the damage, staggering a half a step back from each strike.

A woman with tiny strips of skin still remaining on her arms grabbed onto Ellis and bit into his neck.  Stopping his assault on the mountainous man, Ellis fought to free himself from the woman's clenched teeth.

The momentary lapse allowed the giant to recover.  He clawed at Ellis face and chest, tearing deep, ragged gouges in his flesh.  Ellis howled, the pain forcing him to his knees, finally succumbing to the accumulating damage.

More people piled on, partially cutting off Karen's view of the massacre, biting and tearing at her friend.

"No!"

She started forward, intent on killing them all, when a bony hand grabbed her ankle.  Looking down as she kicked her leg, she saw the hand belonged to a naked man.  His legs were missing.  Intestines covered in filth trailed behind him.

Shrieking in fear and rage, Karen lashed out with a ferocity that shocked her.  She struck the back of his head with the butt of her rifle over and over, finally stopping after his skull caved in.  The still intact half of his body lay motionless in the dirt, oozing things Karen never wanted to see.

The area around her grew brighter, shortening her shadow.  Snapping around, she was confronted with the burning, scuffing corpse of Doctor Randy.

His skin had blackened and split, revealing the red muscle beneath.  Pieces sloughed off, leaving gobs of burning meat trailing behind him.

She set upon him like a feral beast.  Swinging the rifle over her head, she struck him dozens of times, cutting him to his knees.  The stock of her gun cracked after the third strike, but her fury wouldn't allow her to stop.

The last burning remnants of his black robe, dislodged from her attack, landed on her skirt.

When he finally stopped moving, Karen backed away, her chest heaving.  She swatted at her smoldering clothing, smearing bloody hand prints across it.

A hand latched onto her shoulder, pulling her backward and off balance.  She jammed the butt of the rifle against the ground, attempting to break her fall but the crack in the wood split open, sending her sprawling in the dirt. From her back, Karen watched as they closed in around her.  She caught a glimpse of the starry sky in a small break in the tower of smoke.

As hands descended upon her, she closed her eyes and visualized the beautiful stars.

# Chapter 16

––––––––

McCall could see the tracks just ahead of him as he cut through the last of the moaners.  His ammo belt had a handful of rounds left in it and he wasn't sure that it would be enough to stand his ground until the train arrived.

Reloading his pistols emptied the belt, which he took off and threw at the nearest walking dead man.

Looking down the tracks, he saw the train approaching.  Only a few hundred feet stood between him and his freedom.

Then he heard the woman screaming.  She didn't sound all that close.

Spinning around, he looked for Ellis and Karen, but couldn't see anything through the maze of moaners.  He'd been concentrating on pushing through to the tracks with such intensity that he never noticed them fall behind.

Ellis loosed a death cry in the distance.

Looking down at the pistols in his hands, McCall weighed his options.

He had twelve rounds left, plus his Colt.  He hoped that would be enough to defend himself until the train arrived, but doubted it was enough to help them.  The smart move was to stand his ground and wait by the tracks.  Too bad no one had ever accused him of being an intelligent man.

Jumping back into the fray, McCall waded through the moaners, carefully picking his shots.  Only those who were close enough to endanger him were put down.

Heading into the growing crowd in the middle of the street, McCall watched as Karen fought against the swarm of the dead around her.  She swung the rifle he'd given her with a fury that surprised him.

Admiring her spirit, he thought once again that he'd never met a woman like her before.

As he approached, a moaner got a hand on her shoulder and pulled her over.  Four others closed in, tearing at her clothing and hair.  She'd stopped struggling, seemingly accepting her fate.

McCall shot the closest man in the back of the head, sending his body crashing into a woman ripping away pieces of Karen's skirt.

Karen's head snapped around at the shot, her eyes locking on McCall's.  He saw the fire reignite in her.

She kicked an elderly moaner in the chest, lifting him away from her.  McCall shot away his jaw.  Pistol whipping another man away, he reached down and heaved Karen to her feet.

The shrill train whistle came again, catching the attention of many of the creatures in the street.

McCall used the distraction to their advantage, cutting through the expanding crowd.

"I thought you'd left me," she said, panting as she tried to keep up.

"I almost did.  Damn conscience got the better of me."

Squeezing the trigger of his pistol produced a dry click.  Raising his other arm, he aimed the second gun and got the same result.

Throwing the six shooters to ground, he pulled the Peacemaker from the waist of his pants and shot through the eye of a naked man blocking their path.  The man, hobbling on a stump where his foot used to be, showered the area with a red mist as his head exploded.

The train emerged from behind the last house on the street.  It was still moving too fast to stop, but had slowed enough that McCall hoped they could hop aboard.

Grabbing Karen's hand, he sprinted forward, throwing his shoulder against a man wearing an expensive looking suit.

Firing his remaining bullets, he blasted through the last of the moaners, leaving nothing but space before the train.

Four passenger cars were pulled behind the engine car, with the freight in the rear.  Shoving the Colt into an empty holster, McCall turned and ran along the tracks in the same direction as the train.

The engine car pulled past them as they raced forward with most of Gehenna's citizens chasing them.  The brakes squealed as the locomotive continued to slow down.

McCall looked into the first window of the passenger car as it pulled beside them.  A young man stared at him with wide-eyed bewilderment.  Apparently the sight of two people being chased by thousands of mutilated townsfolk wasn't a common occurrence for him.

"Open the door, asshole!" Karen said between huffs.

The young man looked at them for another second before running down the length of the car to the door.  McCall slowed his pace slightly, watching the man pass the windows.

The door opened and the teenager stuck his head out, the perplexed look still in full display.

"What's going on?  It looks like the entire town is burning!"

Instead of answering, McCall grabbed the back of Karen's dress and threw her into the doorway.  She landed on the stairs before scrambling to the top of them.

McCall looked over his shoulder at the shambling mass of cannibals trailing behind.  A few of them wandered into the side of the train only to be knocked to the ground, their limbs severed under the mighty locomotive.

Jumping onto the bottom step, McCall boarded the train as it continued to slow down.  Soon it would reach a full stop, their hope of escape with it.

Karen was two steps ahead of him as they marched through the car.  Many of the passengers gasped at the sight of their bloody, torn clothing, and shrank into their seats.  Others fixed on the anarchy out the windows, watching Gehenna and its citizens burn.

Opening the door to the engine car, Karen burst in with an intensity that made the conductor wilt.  He was a small man of advancing years.  A tiny, perfectly knotted bowtie sat against his neck, and thinly framed glasses hung from the end of his nose.

"Don't stop the train!"  Karen had to shout to be heard over the rumble of the engine.

"You can't be in here!" the conductor said, gaping at her.  "Do you have a ticket?"

McCall freed his Peacemaker from its holster and jammed the end of the barrel into the conductor's crotch, forcing him to bend at the waist.

"Speed up," Karen said.

"But−"

"Listen to the lady, or become one," McCall said.

The man backed away from the gun, staring at McCall's face.

"You're Mad Dog McCall!  I thought you'd be y−"

"Don't even say it."

The conductor didn't like what he saw in McCall's eyes.  "Yes, sir," he said as he turned to the boiler.

Shouting behind them caused McCall and Karen to look back into the passenger car.

"Now what?" Karen asked.

McCall wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.  He had had enough excitement for the day.  Maybe he'd already died and this was his eternal torment in Hell?  No matter what he did, he fell into one never ending chaotic event after another.

The weight of the train shifted, signaling their acceleration.

Opening the cylinder on his Peacemaker, he checked his ammunition.  Nothing.  At least he still had the gun.

"Empty?" Karen asked.

McCall gave her a slight nod before holstering the gun.

"So much for your good luck charm."

"That gun is empty?" the conductor asked.

McCall turned back to him.  "I don't need bullets to put a hurt on you."

"We're going to see what the shouting is about.  If I feel this train slowing down, you'll answer to my friend here," Karen said, bobbing her head at McCall.

The conductor held her gaze for a moment before lowering his eyes in submission.

McCall went into the passenger car, leery of the next turn of events.  A boy of no more than fifteen charged up the center aisle with blood smeared all over his shirt.  He held his left hand tight against his chest.

"What the hell is the shouting about?" McCall asked

The kid was nearing hysterics.  "He bit me!"

"Who?" Karen asked.  McCall could tell from the tone of her voice that she was thinking the same thing he was.

"The man we let onto the train!"

"What?  Who did you let on?" she asked.

"He was stumbling around, just outside the door to the car behind this one.  We opened the door and tried to pull him in, but he bit my hand!  The guy is shithouse crazy!  He was injured real bad!  His nose is gone!  It's just gone!"

"Where is he now?" McCall asked.

"They've got him tied up back there, but he bit eight or ten of us before we got the ropes around him."

McCall and Karen looked at each other, their shoulders slumping simultaneously.

"Goddamn it..." Karen said.

*****

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Did you love _Gehenna_? Then you should read _Tartarus_  by Jason Brant!

Tartarus is book 2 in the West of Hell series.

With Gehenna burning behind them, Karen and McCall had hoped to escape by using the railroad. When one of the moaners is pulled aboard by concerned passengers, the unlikely duo have to survive a train ride from Hell.

As they head further West, toward the mighty Tartarus River, the outlaw and the prostitute must deal with not only an ever increasing army of the dead, but also with the machinations of the living.

Read more at Jason Brant's site.
Also by Jason Brant

The Hunger

Devoured

West of Hell

Gehenna (FREE)

Tartarus

Sheol

West of Hell Omnibus Edition

Standalone

The Dark

The Gate

Echoes

3 Supernatural Thrillers

Watch for more at Jason Brant's site.

# About the Author

Jason Brant is the author of thrillers and horror novels.  His works include Devoured, The Gate, The Dark, the West of Hell series, and multiple novellas and short stories.

A job led him from the mountains of western Pennsylvania to the outskirts of Baltimore, Maryland.  For a little over half a decade, he held the position of Digital Forensics Analyst for the Department of Defense.  He escaped that post to write novels, watch movies, and drink microbrews.

Jason Brant's site

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