Ashes of the Dead - Bucket of Blood (10 page)

•  •  •

The moon had passed behind a finger of gray clouds, and the inside of the building was filled with darkness. The street had grown quiet again, occupied only by the undead. The others were waiting for Cutler and the Gunman inside.

“Nice work,” Andrew said.

“Thanks,” Cutler acknowledged.

“
Now what?” Eric asked. “We can't move an inch from this building without being seen.

“The kid's right,” Father Pearce added.
“We’re surrounded by those demons…the spawn of hell itself.”

They
sat for a moment scratching their heads. There were too many undead roaming the streets, and moving from one building to the other was going to be difficult, even if they remained in the shadows. The Gunman leaned against the wall and wiped the knife on his pants, smearing undead blood across his thigh. No clear solution had presented itself, and the only thing he could think of was trying to shoot his way through town, the only thing he had ever been good at.

“You men seem a little lost,” Jack Richards said, stepping
through a doorway into the room. He held a revolver in one hand and a knife in the other, dirty and splattered with blood. Clay and Aaron stepped behind him, both fully armed, and just as bloody.

“Hello
, Jack,” Pickett said.

“Sheriff,” Jack said
, tipping his hat. Jack walked into the room and holstered his gun. He turned over an empty box and sat on it, and then crossed his legs and leaned back against the wall, holding his hands behind his head. “I might just know your way out of here,” he said to them confidently.

“
Oh yeah, and what would that be?” Cutler questioned.

“Nothin
g that will be easy of course,” Jack said as he pulled out a new cigar.

“We're all ears
, Jack,” Pickett said.

“
There is an old mining shaft that runs underneath the far side of town.”

“
The old Ross mine?”

“
Yup. That's the one.” Jack said, knowingly. He cut off the end of the cigar, struck a match on the box, and lit it while he inhaled deeply.

“I thought it was abandoned,” Cutler mentioned.

“Yup.”

“Well that can't be safe,” Eric stated.

“Nope,” Jack said slyly. He inhaled deeply again, and shifted his weight against the wall. “Of course…we have that little problem of getting passed our friends outside. The ones that are a little over-ripe, if you know what I mean.” He took another puff from the cigar and slowly exhaled. “But now that you’ve arrived, I'm sure we won't have any trouble making our way across town.”

“
What about the others?” Eric asked.

“What others?”

“We left a group of people back in the saloon. Needed to go out and search for food and water,” Pickett said.

“
I'm sure they'll manage.”

“
No. We have to go back for them,” Eric demanded.

The Gunman put his proverbial foot down. “
We go back for the others. Then we make our way to the mine shaft.” The Gunman was skeptical of Jack’s intentions and knew that he shouldn’t be trusted, but at this point there was no other option but to follow his lead.

Jack smothered
the cigar on the table next to him and put the remainder in his front pocket. “Alright boss. We do it your way.” He stood up from the box and cracked his back. “What are we waiting for?”

•  •  •

The worn floorboards creaked under her weight as Rose wandered down the hallway, checking on people in different rooms, and always keeping an eye out the window. Elijah was sitting at the far end of the hallway, with a bloody club in one hand, and a half empty bottle of whiskey in the other.

“
Hello, Miss Dawsen,” he said calmly, the heavy smell of alcohol lingering on his breath.

Rose
sat down next to him and Elijah held out the bottle for her. She took a drink, wiped her lips and passed it back.

“
Things gettin' real crazy roun' here,” he said with a sigh. He took another swig of whiskey, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Rose laid her head back against the wall and closed her heavy eyes, finally feeling like she deserved some rest, but the harsh chorus of undead moaning flowed down the hallway. Like an unholy symphony, it was a cacophony of death. This made her restless and uneasy. With the men gone she felt like it was her duty to stay awake and alert, to keep an eye on everyone and make sure that nothing happened.

Elijah continued to ramble, talking to himself more than anything.
“I just don't know, Miss Dawsen. God must be real mad at us for sumthin’…real mad indeed.” He took another drink and finished the dregs of the bottle, and then rubbed a patch of dried blood on his club. “If help ain’t comin’, I ain’t sure what we gonna do. Sure as hell ain’t no way to get all these people outta’ here.”

Rose
stood up and touched Elijah's shoulder. “Help will come,” she said reassuringly.

“I sure hope so, Miss Dawsen,” he said.

She smiled dryly and continued her patrol down the hallway, but paused in the next doorway. An old woman was sitting on the bed with her husband’s pale face resting firmly in her lap. He was clutching the bed sheets and breathing hard. Rose entered and sat on the end of the bed. “How is he doing?”

The concerned old woman looked up at her with an undeniabl
y calm demeanor. “It's his heart. I'm afraid all of this commotion has affected him badly.” The old woman caressed his fine gray hair and rubbed his shoulder gently. “This always happens when he gets over excited,” she said as she tucked his hair behind an ear. “Do you know where the doctor is?”

“
He'll be back soon.” Rose got up from the bed and touched the old man’s shoulder. “Everything will be okay,” she said, and left the woman and her husband alone in the darkened room. She wondered if her words to the old couple had been true, and how safe they were to remain on the second floor.

Rose approached
the railing and looked over into the parlor. The entire first floor was throbbing with undead. Their numbers had drastically increased as they continued to cram themselves into the saloon. As she watched, an undead man began to climb on top of another undead. It pushed itself upward and the others slowly started to pile on top of each other, getting closer to the second floor.

The undead
man reached up toward her and bit at the air, snapping its cracked teeth together. Elijah stepped next to Rose and looked over the railing. Concern washed over them both.

“We need to get out of here,” she told him.

“Sure do, Miss Dawsen.
And soon
.”

•  •  •

The Gunman and the others slipped along a building and hid in the shadows as they crept out of sight from several undead. They waited behind a stack of wooden boxes on the boardwalk until a few undead at the far end of the street lumbered away aimlessly into the darkness. The Gunman watched them for a moment until they were out of sight, and then moved a little farther along the building, shuffling in silence. Suddenly, an undead woman passed by the end of the boardwalk, only a few feet in front of them. The Gunman held up his fist, and nobody moved, or breathed for that matter. The undead woman paused and stared into the distance. The Gunman drew his knife and readied himself to attack. He knew that he would have to be as silent as possible, but the streets crawled with undead in all directions, and any action would risk everybody’s lives. He waited and watched as the undead woman slowly turned toward them. He gripped the knife tighter in his palm, knowing that he would have to take her down with a single blow. But the undead woman turned back and moved on, shuffling away down the muddy street, and left them behind in the shadows. Cutler took a deep breath and the others relaxed. The Gunman sheathed his knife and led them to the end of the boardwalk.

“
We'll have to cross the street here,” Pickett told him.

The Gunman craned
his neck around the corner and saw dozens of undead busily feasting in the middle of the street, paying attention to nothing other than bits of raw human flesh they clumsily placed into their mouths. “Is there any other way?” the Gunman whispered.

“
Yes. But this is the fastest way back to the saloon,” Pickett said.

The
Gunman thought for a moment. He didn’t like the idea of taking any unnecessary risks. But the sooner they returned to the saloon the better. He shook his head and was about to start sneaking across when Cutler grabbed his arm.

“Wait…
I have an idea,” he told him.

•  •  •

A large wooden barn door, ripped from its hinges, moved slowly across the street. On the other side, holding up the barn door and walking step-by-step, the gang of men cleverly hid from the undead.

“God
, I hope this works,” Eric whispered.

Cutler grunted and shifted
his weight under the immensely heavy door. “Let me know if you have a better idea,” he responded.

“
Shhh
--,” Pickett hissed at them.

They kept shuffling across the street, moving as slowly as possible, not wanting to attract any attention from nearby undead. But s
everal stood up anyways and began moving toward the barn door, drawn toward it out of curiosity. Clay peeked through a knothole in the door and saw the undead approaching.

“
Shit
.”

“Faster,” Pickett told them.

They approached the far side of the street near an alley, but the barn door was getting heavy,
really heavy
. Aaron and Clay began to loose their grip and their fingers slipped from the door.

“
Shit.” Clay’s hand slipped farther. “Shit!” The corner of the door scraped the ground, the others lost their hold, and the door dropped, splintering into a few large pieces, revealing everybody. The undead saw fresh meat and moved toward them even faster, more joining their ranks as they closed in on them.

“
Into the alley!” The Gunman yelled, no longer remaining quiet in the face of death, and he led the way as they charged off the street.

S
everal undead followed, beelining straight toward them. Aaron drew his revolver and fired, striking an undead in the chest, but Pickett grabbed the barrel of his gun and stopped him before he could fire again. “Let go old man!”

“You idiot!
You'll bring more!” Pickett brandished a large knife and turned to Caleb. “Get behind me, son.”

More u
ndead entered the opposite end of the alley and they had become completely surrounded by the ravenous undead. Everyone started to attack, hacking and chopping with their blades. Cutler wielded his axe, swinging wildly. The Gunman used his butcher's knife, slicing with precision. Jack, Clay and Aaron all used large hunting knifes, stabbing brutally. More undead entered the alley and everyone got bloody as they hacked, slashed, chopped and stabbed at the undead. Pearce wielded his poker and smashed an undead's temple, and then rammed the poker deep into its brain to finish the job. He stood up from his kill, covered in blood, with his white clerical collar now stained black, no longer looking like a priest, but rather an undead slayer.

“
Move!” the Gunman demanded as they edged closer to the end of the alley and continued to slice their way through, trying desperately to escape as the undead bodies piled higher around them. Suddenly an undead woman lunged at the Gunman, ready to bite him in the leg, but Jack stabbed it in the head just before she could grab him, and her twitching body fell at his feet. The Gunman turned to him in surprise. “
Thanks
.”

Jack nodded
and continued to fight, slashing an undead across the chest. The Gunman was taken aback by how brutally he fought, a true survivor.

Aaron lodged his knife into an u
ndead's head, but couldn’t remove it from the bone. As he worked to pry it loose, another undead attacked and bit his arm, ripping away muscle and exposing bone. Aaron finally managed to dislodge the knife from the first undead's skull and stabbed the second in the eye. He had become separated from the others and was helpless against the onslaught. Another undead attacked and bit his shoulder. Aaron stabbed it in the forehead, but another undead bit into his stomach. He plunged his knife deep into its neck, but it lunged again, plunging its fingers into Aaron’s stomach and ripping open his abdomen. He withdrew the knife and stabbed the undead in the eye socket, instantly dropping it to the ground, but two more undead bit into his chest and a third tore into his neck.

Clay stood only feet away,
but there were too many undead in between them, and he was helpless to stop them. Aaron fell to the ground, warm blood flowing from his neck as he held his own intestines. He pulled his gun with a bloody hand and blasted two more undead before they could reach him, and then turned the gun on himself, pointing it at his temple. He pulled the trigger, but the revolver was empty. The undead horde closed in around him, ready to feast. Clay fought his way through two undead, smashing one in the forehead with the butt of his gun and stabbing the other one in the neck, but it was too late. Aaron lay in the dirt with his neck ripped open and stomach torn apart, breathless from shock. His eyes bulged and slowly turned back into his skull as his life slipped away.