I would like to be able to tell you fine folks that after my bout of pain, I jumped right up onto a horse and lit out after Sumter for my path of bloody vengeance. It'd make me look better. It'd certainly be more in line with all the rest of the wild tales you hear from around these parts. But no, if I'm gonna tell this story, I'm gonna tell it honestly. I've heard tell of people who remember every incident after a tragedy just as clear as glass.
Every moment made in perfect stageplays in their heads. It wasn't like that for me. I cannot tell you folks how long I lay there in that yard. The time passed like those slide shows at a fair. Bits of memory, done in single frames.
I guess at some point, folks from town come up and got me, and helped bury my daddy and Sam, one of daddy's deputies and our ranch hand. I guess he got caught in the fighting too. All I remember is being in some feverish state, the world a foggy bleary image in my illness. I could probably sit down and piece it together from remembering myself waking trying to dig a hole, to whenever somebody carried me to the hotel and then laying in the bed, apparently fighting off deaths Kaiser blade.
But those few days aren't really relevant to my tale. I didn't accomplish anything except stagger around, run an ungodly fever and apparently drink non-stop. Apparently it got to the point that I would vomit water and then immediately ask for more.
I suppose I frightened Ms. Karry to death, my being sick like that. Of course, there was the other little detail but we'll get to that in a second. Anyway, I know she was spooked, because I remember her sweet brown face hovering over me from time to time, giving me a drink or dabbing my head with a washcloth. But, the rest of those days are behind the veil of memory and just sitting here trying to remember all the details is causing me a headache. So, I guess I'll move on to when I came to.
I remember snapping straight up in the soft feather bed, panting hard and seemingly dying from thirst. My mouth itched and my throat was so raw it felt like I had tried my hand at sword swallowing and botched it. I spotted the basin and stumbled to it. I cupped my hands and drank, again and again. I kept drinking, even after I got sick on the floor. I went right back to it. I didn't even care that I was only in the suit God gave me and a pair of undershorts. My mind was only on the thirst.
When he spoke from behind me in his cultured Nola accent I nearly jumped out of my skin. "The water isn't going to help you, lad." I whirled on him, my heart hammering in my chest. I got my first look at Dusty Holmes. US Marshal, Gunman, man of fashion and one of the greatest men I have ever had the pleasure to be associated with.
Oh he is also the record holder for world's biggest jackass.
Anyway, so I turn around and Sitting in the chair, opposite the bed, the back pushed against the door, was a gentleman in a white three piece suit, with gray pinstripes. It was impeccably clean, it almost glowed in the morning light. Everything about him from his curled blonde mustache and tiny pointed beard made him look like a southern dandy. Save for his boots. He wore a set of thick leather half-chaps that came up to his knees and were bound with a couple strips of rawhide.
The boots themselves were the brown square toed things that seemed more apt on an old cowpuncher rather than this gentlemen. My daddy had called this setup the "shitkicker's special". Those weren't the boots of a man on the town. They were hunter's boots. The kind of boots a man might wear if he were to hi-ho off into the woods at a moment's notice to give chase to God Only Knew what. I'm babbling. Anyway, He had seen my sudden start and frowned. "Sorry, son. I did not mean to scare you."
"Who are you?" I managed to croak out, my throat full of razors. Talking hurt like the devil.
The fellow seemed to recognize this and stood, pulling something from the inside of his coat. It was a badge. A black iron star set in a thick silver ring. "My name is Dusty Holmes. I'm a Federal Marshal. I heard of the attack against your home and rode through to investigate." He quirked a smile. "Would you like some pants? This is quite uncomfortable for me. You in your all-together like that." He stepped across and peered out the window. "Also, we are in a bit of a hurry. So, let us work through this quickly, hmmm?"
I wanted to fix it but instead I went back to the water basin drinking until I made myself queasy. I reached for the carafe which had been used to fill the basin and tried to pick it up. My arms didn't the strength. "Water..." I begged. At that moment I honestly believe I could have shot someone in exchange for something to drink. "Please, water."
"I have already said that the water shan't help you." Dusty told me, sounding a bit irritated. "We have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in. So Come on, let's get this settled."
He walked over toward a long navy blue coat that hung on a peg beside the door. A gray suede bowler hat shared the peg with the coat. Dusty reached into the pocket of the coat and produced a little brown bottle. It looked like a medicine bottle, down to the cork stopper in the top. My eyes fixed on it, I heard liquid sloshing inside. I walked toward him, my movements like I had lead weights in my arms and legs. I reached out my hands toward the bottle.
"May I have some Please? I'm thirsty, sir." I rasped. For some reason, this weird bit of politeness stayed with me despite being in nothing but my undershorts. I couldn't be bothered to put on pants but I remembered to say please.
"Of course, my boy. I brought it for you, after all." He popped the cork free and handed me the bottle. I took it gratefully and turned it up, suddenly trying to be polite. The moment the sweet heady wine hit my throat, I immediately felt better. By the third swallow I felt normal and was very, very aware that I was indecent.
"Oh, gee! Sorry, sir! Thank you, very much!" I dashed over, closing the distance to my pants in a hurry. I quickly slipped into them. "Can I have another drink, please?" I asked lacing up my trousers. In answer to my question, the Marshal just pointed at the bottle that I had set on the dresser next to my shirt.
"Seems to me you intend to keep it, regardless of my answer." He chuckled wryly and I felt myself color. He flapped his hand dismissively. "But as I said, I brought it for you anyway. Now come along, little fellow. We have to get a move on." He sighed and flopped back in the chair once I began fumbling into my shirt and vest. I took another drink and felt great. I went back to the water, just to try it, to see if it wasn't the water makin me sick.
Then I caught what he said amd turned back to him. To say I was confused was an understatement. "What did you say, mister? Why did you say we? I'm not goin anywhere. I gotta help find who did this to my daddy."
Dusty groaned. "I am aware of that boy. But you are what, all of 10? You cannot hunt down a creature like that by yourself. And you are, at this very moment in great peril."
"I'm 11." I cut in. "I turn 12 on the first. And whaddaya mean I'm in peril? What's peril?" I tipped up the carafe and the water slid down my throat and was just as thirst quenching as it ever was, clean too. When I put the carafe down I looked up. Above the water basin was a lovely mirror, with an ornate frame. Some pattern of ivy or some such leafed over with a gold wash. It was pretty but I saw my own eyes and was struck dumb.
My right eye was the same as always, a bright but faded shade of blue, that Ms. Karry described as "the last blue of the sky before it rains". My left however, was a screaming violent red. Red as hatred, red as anger... red as blood.
In the mirror, I saw the left eye of Sumter Allen.
I just stood there. I heard Dusty sigh again and that broke my reverie. "What happened to my eye?" I managed to croak out.
"Well, boy. You were attacked by a vampire." Dusty told me. The statement was in a bored tone, like he was talking about the weather. "But I can explain all that later. For now, we have some things we need to worry about first, my lad."
Just then there was a pounding on the door that was so loud it sounded like this would-be intruder was trying to knock it in. I heard a voice I recognized. It was one of my daddy's deputies, Jarrod Wilcox. "Marshal! Open this door! I wanna talk to that boy!" He barked. His voice was angry and he beat on the door again. "Find out what he did to David!"
Ms. Karry's voice came from outside. "Stop it, Jarrod! You don't know what happened! How could you accuse..."
"Shut up, Marice! I know what I saw! That boy has been posessed! And now there's a marshal..."
To say the least I was baffled. "What are they talking about, Mr. Holmes?"
Dusty looked at me. "That man, and the preacher, have the whole town convinced that you are posessed of the Great Satan and that you helped kill your father." .
"No! No! I didn't kill my daddy! It's a lie! Please, ya gotta believe me Marshal! It was a bad man named Sumter! Please don't let em hang me! How can they believe that!" I sat down and started to cry. "I didn't..."
Dusty held his hands out like he was trying to calm a spooked mule. "I know that, son. I know." He walked over and put his hand on my head. "But you are a victim of circumstance." Suddenly more voices were outside and Ms. Karry screamed that they should get out of her saloon. But the voices outside were getting louder.
Jarrod spoke up again, once again slamming his fist or foot into the door. "Mister! Give me that boy! Or I'm gonna knock this door in and take him!"
"This is outrageous... Stupid fools." Dusty said to the door and then turned back to me. He pulled me to my feet. "Look at me boy. Now, this is normally done with more ceremony but this is the way I see it, my lad. You have two choices. You can come with me or stay here and take your chances with that crowd gathering out there. I know this is a hard choice to make right this moment but it has to be made now." When I hesitated, he added. "You will have to do everything I say, when I say to do it but I'm going after Sumter and you can ride along. I need an apprentice anyway."
"Really?" I asked. Stunned by this information, I nodded eagerly. "Yea, I'll come with you."
Dusty nodded. "Good lad. Now, grab your things. We have to move now. Before there are more of them than I can handle." As I stood there thinking, Dusty barked. "Move boy! With purpose!"
With that I put the spurs to it. I Slipped my feet into my boots. I didn't worry about the socks, I just stuck them in my vest pocket. Somebody had put my father's gunbelt and Sherriff's star on my dresser and I grabbed them without hesitation. I draped the gunbelt, which was far too big for me, over my left shoulder and let it hang to my right hip. It looked like a bandolier.
I walked back to Dusty. "Leave the piece." He told me. I immediately balked like a stubborn mule and I shook my head. "Dammit boy, leave it. We'll pick you up another one later, but for now all that will do is antagonize..."
"No." I said flatly. "It was my Daddy's. I won't leave it behind." Dusty gave me a flat look. Then smiled.
"I sense deep steel in you, boy. You might be quite good at this. Let's go." And with that he put on his coat and hat. He picked up a cane from the peg, behind the coat and gave it a little twirl. It was only then that I noticed the twin gunbelts hanging low on his hips. With a flourish, the marshal opened the door just as Jarrod went to shoulder it in. The deputy stumbled through and fell on the floor. Dusty looked down and thumped his cane on the floor in a quick sort of rat-tat sound then gave the deputy a very cheery grin, that didn't match his steely eyes "Why, you seem to have taken a bit of a tumble, Deputy. Are you quite alright?"
Jarrod didn't look right. His eyes were normally bright and cheery ordeals. I mean, my god, the man was barely 30 and had crow's feet like canyons. But there was something in them, something malicious and vile and not quite sane. The deputy growled at the marshal, pulling himself to his feet.
"The boy. Give me the boy..." He muttered over and over again. The deputy turned to me and reached out trying to grab my arm. On reflex I slapped his hand away and he pulled it back like I had hit the thing with a hammer. Then he lunged for me. Well, it's more accurate to say he tried to lunge at me. There was a loud smacking sound and Jarrod grunted stumbling sideways falling to his knees. He looked poleaxed. I looled to Dusty and he had his pistol in his hand. It was a Volcanic pistol. A strange sort of gun that had an underbarrel chamber and used a lever action mechanism rather than a single-action hammer.
"Now, now." The marshal chided, as he aimed the weapon at the fallen man. "Let's not do something we will regret." He motioned with the gun for the Deputy to stand. "On your feet, dear sir. I believe that you are going to help us depart this little hamlet."
When the man stayed kneeling and clutching his ear, Dusty tossed me his cane without a word and hauled the unfortunate Wilcox to his feet, the pistol firmly against the back of his head. "Come along, deputy. Let's make nice." Dusty then spoke to me. "Stay on my heels, lad. We are going to move fast."
With nary another word, Dusty moved into the hall the deputy acting as an unwilling shield.
I followed on his heels clutching the cane like a lifeline. When we entered the hall i saw the stairs and they were crowded with men and women. All of them had the same look in thier eyes as the deputy. They were chanting in a low whisper "The boy. Give us the boy." When they saw Dusty holding the deputy hostage the chant died away.
"I am a federal marshal. I am on the business of the government. If you would kindly make a hole through the throng, I would be very grateful." He told them, his voice happily upbeat. Someone in the crowd shouted that they could get him, that they outnumbered him. Dusty laughed, and it was a hard bitter sound. "You might very well do so. But I promise I will turn this deputies head into a gravy boat. Then I will turn my guns on you." With a flip of his hand Dusty ratcheted a round into the chamber of the pistol. "At this point, this has become an unlawful assembly. I am well within my rights to whatever action is required to make you disperse." His voice was ironclad with hard truth. "And understand that I will do so and sleep like a babe this night. I will leave you with a great weeping and moaning and a gnashing of teeth. And I will feel no guilt." His eyes panned the throng. "Now move."
The crowd seemed like it was going to part and then some damned fool made a move. Right before Dusty's pistol turned his face into a memory, I saw a thin veil of black mist seeming to leak from the man's eyes. Then he was gone. There was no hesitation when the marshal made true to his word and scattered Wilcox's brains all over the wall. More of that mist came from the corpse. Then another man rushed up the stairs. It was the preacher of the local church. His eyes didn't seem to have smoke leaking from them. It was pouring. He stopped short then spoke. "The boy belongs to Sumter. He wants him, Ranger."
Dusty smiled and shook his head, raising his gun. "Leave it to that dog to order a preacher be cursed. Rotten shame." He swung another round into the chamber. "Well, I'm sorry padre. Finders keepers and all that."
The preacher rushed forward but smoke seemed to cloud the edges of his form. Dusty fired and missed. He rolled both guns and fired again. The first missed again but the second one blew the preacher backwards, the black clothes of his office beginning to stain. He hit the floor but for some reason, Dusty levered two more rounds into his guns. "Stay down, preacher. Stay down..." but as with most things, it didn't go the way Dusty hoped. The old man sprang to his feet, the amount of smoke increasing, his eyes were now floating yellow spots in a black cloud. It flew forward on feet unseen. The preacher's form was lost in a black fog that filled the hallway. A faceless nightmare being of shadow tentacles and glowing eyes. It was like one of those nightmares where you can't see what's chasing you. Except here it was, given form.
Dusty began to let those guns thunder. They fired in rapid succession, the sound absolutely deafening. I don't know whether any of the shots found a home in that void being. From what I learned later, I suspect not because the blackness rolled on and a roaring sound of unnatural rage shook the plaster walls and wooden boards of the saloon.
Then, it was on Dusty, tearing at his nice suit and knocking his hat from his head. Blue liquid, like jelly flew from cuts that appeared on Dusty's body. He screamed and tried to fire his weapons but the shadow thing knocked them from his hands with a swipe of one shadowy tentacle. Dusty grappled with the creature until he got his hand free. He punched out and tried to get away. He scrabbled back toward the room we had come from, but one of those tentacles came forward and snaked around his ankle.
And I sat there, frozen like I had been when my father died under Sumter's teeth and flashing knife. Then, something in me broke. A wild animal rage filled me and I was consumed with the desire to kill. No, that's not right. That doesn't describe it. I was hungry. I lusted for destruction, for mayhem... for glorious bloody murder. I pulled my father's knife as my teeth suddenly started to ache, my mouth desiring to bite and rend and tear. I leaped forward lashing out, my fingers bent into claws near where the things face should be. I hit something solid and it howled wordlessly in pain. I swiped at it again and black ichor splattered the floor. Death filled me. Dusty told me later that I was screaming at the thing. "Die! Die! Die! Die!"
I remembered the knife and swung as hard as I could at those horrid eldritch eyes. The blade found purchase and the beast screamed in rage. It threw me backward and I slammed into the wall hard enough to splinter the boards. But there was no pain, no sobs of a child. I landed in a crouch, a beast ready to pounce. I didn't know, but Dusty said that I had sharp fangs displayed in a murderous snarl. Then the crash of Dusty's pistol filled the hall again. An earth shattering cry of agony shook the walls and splintered the glass at the end of the hallway. I snapped my head in his direction, and the cry was so loud that the thunder of Dusty's next shot was lost in the beast's roar. It staggered back and shrunk, becoming the size of a small child.
I pounced. I wrappedd my hands around rhe beasts throat and bore it to the ground. Then I punched it hard in the face. Then shoved it's head back, exposing its shadowy neck. I bit, fangs punching holes in shadow. I drank and a saccharine sweetness filled my mouth. I drank and drank until the beast lay still. Then I relented, shadowy drops of blood dripping from my wet mouth onto the floor. Dusty stood at the end of the hall and gathered up his remaining pistol, sliding it back into its holster. I looked down the hall.
Every remnant of anyone who had been standing there, or whom Dusty had shot... was gone. Save Ms. Kary, who was a shuddering weeping wreck. Nothing remained of the dead but dust, covered in fading shadows.