Derecho- Part Six- It is Ended!
Exactly two weeks and three days after I was shot, I left the Fancy Lady’s residence and headed into town to recover the boy’s body.
The Fancy Lady refused to accompany me. When I asked her why, she replied, ‘Not this time, not ever. We aos si live long lives. Why would we jeopardize that by tethering ourselves to a mortal?’ She looked at me long, ‘There are other ‘heroes’ then you,” she replied.
Other heroes than me…?
I said nothing, the western sky spilling like blood over the mountains as we watched. Upon reaching the outskirts of town, I turned around-
The aos si was gone.
As before, the streets were empty. There were signs of a storm, a big one from the number of branches down, leaves blown, and debris. Could this be from the night I was shot?
Ten minutes later and the church loomed before me, its spire, topped by a blackened cross, dividing the sun, one side into light, the other into darkness. The day was warm and quiet.
Too quiet!
As the boy indicated, they had boarded up all the buildings doors and windows. Soot had blackened the roof, stained the windows. Red paint had been used to graffiti the front doors.
‘Silverheels… Burn in HELL!
A sign stood next to the street; St. John Cathedral, two services, 7:00 AM Traditional, 10:00 AM Non-Denominational. White letters spelled out below:
Ch Ch
What’s missing?
UR!
Gun drawn, I approached.
The doors at the top of the stairs showed recent passage. There were drops of what appeared to be dried blood, leading across the threshold. Seeing nothing unforetold, I opened the doors.
The darkness beyond reeked of must and blood.
Decay.
A second set of doors revealed more, a darkened sanctuary lit by shafts of brilliant light.
Complete and utter silence-
Stepping into that space, I feel vastness… there is an emptiness here, a feeling of hunger that can never be quenched!
The walls are black with soot, the pews charred.
I catch sight of the front of the church, the lectern, and altar. A large crucifix, suspended from wires, hangs from the ceiling.
The cross is not empty-
A word springs to mind-
Defilement.
Saul has taken the Saviors place, the boys’ hands and feet nailed to the cross. There are signs of violence everywhere, spatters and strings of blood, overturned pews, scattered hymnals.
The sanctuary reeks of slaughter!
I realize then what happened to the town- the same as happened in this place. The townsfolk had been brought here for slaughter, one house, one family, one person at a time-
Taken by day and stolen by night.
Be it by the demon, the Fancy Lady, or by the Master- it did not matter.
In the end, I was too late!
I turn away from the boy’s face. Like the sanctuary his body has been defiled, eyes gouged out, flesh rent.
Blood streaks his cheeks like tears.
I approach the altar. “Damn you,” I mutter, “Damn you all to hell!”
A sound behind me.
I turn-
The demon is as before, its pale, child-like body still covered in blood. “You live.”
The demon seems surprised.
“You should not have killed the child,” I say.
“He was one, among many,” the demon replies, scything its fingers. Watching, it raises one bloodied hand, licks at blood. “Sweet,” it says, then bolts my way.
I get off two shots. Miss both times, thunder echoing.
I drop to one knee as the demon leaps, arms, and scythes outstretched, reaching…
I twist to one side-
The pew next to me explodes into a shower of splinters, as the demon passes overhead, arms and blades flailing.
That was freaking close!
It takes a moment for me to recover, bring lex to bare.
Four shots left.
The demon bounds next to me, wings flopping, hands outstretched and raking.
I block the attack with lex, no longer a pistol, but a wickedly sharp blade. Sparks fly. A terrible screech fills the air.
The scythes miss my face by a hair.
I twist to one side and punch the demon on the right side of ‘its’ head.
The demon rocks back- only to launch once again, mouth wide, exposing needle-like teeth- I am reminded of a cat, ribbed pink pallet, eyes closed, tongue darting.
I punch again, this time in the mouth- only to draw back, hand bloodied and missing skin.
The demon continues to attack, hands slashing, feet raking. Each time I manage to evade- but barely.
I am tiring! My chest and side burn.
The demon goes for my throat, first with her hands, then with her teeth-
I push back, jamming the blade between ‘her’ teeth. My elbow goes numb as we roll across the floor.
I no longer feel pain, everything’s happening quickly. I bring up a knee, try and catch the demon, and push ‘it’ away.
The demon hisses, spit speckling my face.
I manage to catch a breath, bring lex to bear, and fire once- catching the demon squarely between the eyes. My shot lifts the top of ‘its’ head off, showers the pews behind it in a spray of blood as black as midnight.
The demon, black feathers spinning, veers off, only to crumple and lie still at the foot of the altar.
I drop to one knee, panting, struggling to catch my breath. My right side is stained in red.
When I am rested enough, I bring the boy down. His left arm hanging loosely about my shoulders. I wrap the small body in purple cloth and carry him outside, lay him down.
I will bury him later- I have a fat man to kill!
The next thing I know, I find myself outside the saloon, noonday sun beating. How many times must it shine on me before my task is done, history made complete? A scripture comes to mind, one taught to me as a child long ago:
‘for he maketh. his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.’
It reminds me that my life was never meant to be fair.
I find my backpack where I left it, next to the doors of the saloon. I sling it across my shoulders and secure the straps. Another thought comes to mind, a way to end all this, ‘Anything that can withstand fire, must be put through the fire, and then it will be clean.’
This place needed to be made clean!
I enter the saloon and see it for what it truly is- a spider’s web, a trap for the unwary.
I take the time to set my own trap…
Afterwards I march upstairs, gun drawn. The aos si waits for me in the darkness at the top of the stairs.
“I pay my debts,” I say. She does not respond.
I head towards the hall.
Little has changed since the last time I was here. The wall has been repaired, reeks of fresh paint. I approach the door- kick it open-
I empty the gun, thunder deafening. Down and feathers fly, wood splinters, smoke fills the air-
A screech and flurry of sound.
I immediately take a knee, pull the ejector, drop the spent cylinder, and ram a second home.
A hand reaches out for me, more claw than flesh. It slashes once, then twice.
Miss.
I stand, empty a second cylinder into the bed.
The bullets bite home, pock-marking the fat man’s flesh.
Blood, the color of night, streaks the wall-
It is not enough. Through the smoke and haze I can see the fat man is not dead-
As the Fancy Lady would say, the Master remains.
I turn and run, even as something immense breaks through the wall behind me, giving chase!
Reaching the landing… the aos si is gone. I take the stairs two at a time, sliding down the last remaining feet of the banister, land on my feet. I’m already reloaded, hands busy.
Instead of firing back towards the stairs, I fire towards the bar, and the containers stacked there-
Plastic jugs of gasoline from the towns filling station. Glass bottles of whiskey. A cacophony of exploding glass- then flame. An immense roar engulfs the staircase and upper landing, a whoosh so loud and strong, the blast literally picks me up, and carries me through the front plate glass window, spilling me into the street.
I struggle to my feet brushing away glass.
The saloon has become an inferno of heat and flame. Amid that flame, something withers and flails, something large and monstrous, something that struggles and tries not to die.
I watch as flames speak, their roar drowning. Wings of black smoke billow into the sky.
The church is next.
I cheer when the spire falls. I’d rather burn this cursed town down, then let anyone else fall into its prey!
The scrawl was right, it was time for the legend of Silverheels to die!
When the church has been rendered to ash, I turned away.
[image error]
I buried Saul on a hilltop, his grave surrounded by yellow flowers. It happened on a day when the wind blew cold and the sun burned hot. I marked his grave’s location on a map, made a quick notation in my journal, and spoke a few words…
‘Ashes to ashes… dust to dust.’
The boy deserved that much.
Sometime between the burying and praying Coyote returned. The beast looked horrible. One side of the animal’s head was bare, covered in dried blood and a wicked looking gash.
Coyote limps over.
I lean against the shovel, wipe dust from my eyes. “Bout damn time,” I mutter.
Coyote doesn’t answer.
I tip my hat back, take a swig of water. The West continues to call, but so does the North.
The North only louder-
Behind me, Fairplay burns, its dark smoke marring the horizon. In front of me, high over the mountains, clouds like gore crows, grow. Saul was right, it was only a matter of time before the next storm, which means it was time for me to go.
“You coming…?”
Coyote growls. She agrees.
“Good, cause we got a long way to go, and a short time to get there.” With that and a final glance towards the town, we move out.
The End.
I hope you enjoyed this tale of ‘Them’. If you would like to see more, then check out the short stories ‘They’ and ‘Desert Mirage’. Both can be found at http://www.smusing.com.
