The Six-Gun Tarot (45 page)

“Now, go!” he hissed. They crossed the open space quickly, three shades fluttering loose from the darkness for an instant, then swallowed up by the gloom of the building’s shadow.

Auggie clutched the door handle with one hand and fitted the key into the lock with the other. Clay stood ready with an unlit lantern and match while Gillian scanned the street for any signs of activity. The door clicked open. They hurried inside and closed the door behind them.

Clay struck the match and lit the lantern. He placed it on top of a wooden crate, one of many in the cluttered storeroom. The open door leading to the stairs to the overhead apartment was yawning darkness.

“Gillian,” Auggie said, taking her hand “why don’t you get us some provisions from the storefront for the trip? Fill some canteens and grab whatever food you can. Stay away from the windows and keep down,
ja
?”

She nodded and squeezed his hand. She opened the door a crack and slid inside, shutting it behind her.

“Nice way to distract the ‘other woman,’” Clay said with a rasp that passed for a chuckle from him.

“Be quiet,” Auggie said, ascending the stairs. “Come on.”

The light from the lantern below was a feeble comfort. The apartment was dark and the window blinds were drawn. Auggie moved as quietly as he could, quickly lifting a framed photograph off the end table—the only photo ever taken of Gerta. He used his free hand to grab the old family Bible they had brought with them on the crossing from Germany. It had been in Gerta’s family for six generations and it contained the only record of their son’s birth and death.

Clay watched Auggie collect the artifacts of his life. “You need to tell them, both of them,” he said to Auggie’s back.

“After we get out of here, after they are both safe. Then, I’ll do it,” Auggie said. “I’m sorry for what I said to you at the dance.”

They entered the bedroom. Auggie pulled a large carpetbag from under the bed. He snapped it open and dropped the photo and Bible into it.

“Don’t be,” Clay said. “She seems like a decent enough female. No Gerta, mind you, but acceptable. Come on; let’s get Gertie’s case. I brought her repair kit; it’s in the wagon already.”

There was a crash below them, a scream; it was Gillian. Auggie dashed toward the stairs. He heard glass shattering, angry voices. He reached the storeroom in time to see Gillian struggling in the doorway with Doc Tumblety, Stained and snarling.

“Come here, you little whore!” Tumblety bellowed. “You’ll change your tune soon enough, bitch! Let me get my mouth on you!”

Gillian scratched at the doctor’s face. Clearly she was frightened, but she also looked angry.

“Get your filthy drunkard hands off of me, damn you!”

The creature that had been Tumbelty winced and reached for its torn face, releasing Gillian.

She spun, bumped into Auggie and fell into his arms. “They were outside the store, all over Main Street,” she said, gasping. “ They saw me; I’m sorry!”

Auggie hurled a punch at Tumblety as the infected doctor lunged again at Gillian. The doctor flew backward into the store. Auggie saw other figures in his store, Gerta’s store, climbing through the shattered front windows, knocking over shelves, breaking things. He felt the tears welling up in him, the anger and the sadness. He remembered holding Gerta here, on this patch of desert before all of this had existed. The shadows crept closer. Tumblety was scrambling to its feet, laughing. There was more crashing, more breaking.

Gillian’s voice was close to him. “Augustus, we have to go upstairs, now. Come on, darling. Please, we have to go.”

Blood crawled down the side of her face. He touched her hair; it was wet with blood. Her eyes rolled back into her sockets and she went limp in his arms.

“Gillian!” he screamed. He lifted her in his massive arms and slammed the door to the stairwell. He secured it with an iron bolt and hurried up the stairs, even as the pounding began on the barred door.

“Clay! Trouble! Gillian is hurt!”

Auggie laid her on the bed. Clay had already pulled down Gerta’s case. It rested on the small chest by the water basin.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Clay asked.

“Is she all right?” Auggie asked, pushing Gillian’s bloody hair out of her face. “Is she going to be all right?”

Clay examined her head briefly. “Looks like a nasty scalp wound. She probably has a mild concussion, or she passed out from blood loss. She should be fine, if we get out of here with our skins intact.”

There was more pounding and another crash; then both men began to smell smoke.

“Damnation!” Clay said. “They set the place on fire, trying to smoke us out.”

“We have to get them out of here, Clay! How about the window?”

Clay pushed back the blinds. “The alley is still clear and I see smoke pouring out of the building. It’s too far to drop either of them. I’ll climb out and go get the wagon. You can lower them down to me.”

“Go,” Auggie said.

Clay tried to force the window open, but couldn’t. Finally he smashed it, wincing in pain as a shard of the glass sliced his hand. He climbed through the jagged opening, out onto the narrow awning. Smoke was starting to fill the apartment. The pounding and shouting had stopped, replaced with the snap and crack of approaching flames. Auggie figured the Stained, as he found himself thinking of them, had withdrawn to either let him, Clay and Gillian burn or wait for them to run outside.

Auggie heard a faint moan. It was from Gerta’s case. He opened it. Part of Gerta’s skin—the part that had covered her jaw and chin—had come loose and was floating at the top of her tank. Her teeth and jawbone were partly exposed and a thin trail of bubbles slipped from her barely moving lips. Auggie wound the key several times and saw her eyes flutter open.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Gerta; don’t be afraid,” he said.

She smiled at him.

“
I … was … dreaming
,” she said.

“What were you dreaming about?” he asked, stifling a cough. Smoke was clawing at the back of his throat. On the bed, Gillian stirred, coughing too. He heard the groan of wood giving way below him. He looked out the window—no Clay yet.

“Please tell me, Gerta.”

“
Do you remember when we rode up Rose Hill and had a picnic for your birthday? That was a beautiful day. I always see that day whenever I think of what Heaven will be like. I fell in love with you again that day, Augustus. I fall in love with you again every time I see you, did you know that?
”

“Ja, Gerta. I know.” He was crying.

The head pursed her lips. Part of them drifted away in the fluid from the effort.
“Don’t be sad, darling. Everyone dies. It is fair. We have had a wonderful time together. We shared pain and joy, anger and comfort. We took two lives and made them into so, so much more.”

There was a whoosh as a jet of flame erupted in the living room. The Swiss clock continued to tick as it was burning. The whole building breathed and shuddered. The floor was hot now and the smoke was everywhere, becoming thicker.

“No! You can’t die; I won’t let you die. I’ll save you! I can’t do this alone, Gerta. I can’t bear this alone!”

The fluid in the tank was beginning to bubble as it started to boil.

“I can’t stay, Augustus. Please understand, my love. I pray to be free of this pain, of this cage. You can save me, beloved—you can let me go; you can set me free.”

The flames were licking between the planks of the floor in the bedroom. The whole world now was unbearable heat and smoke. The floor creaked under its own weight.

“Gerta, I need to tell you something. I love Gillian, very much. I’m sorry, I never wanted to hurt you, but you deserved the truth. I love her, and I want a life with her.”

Gert smiled.
“She is a very good woman. I couldn’t ask for a better person to look after you. I just want you to be happy, Augustus. As happy as you made me.”

The clockwork beneath the tank began to grind to a stop. The lights in the tank dimmed, but the head remained animate.

“I want that for you too, love. I’ve been selfish for too long,” Auggie said, running his hands along the glass of her jar. It was hot to the touch. “This was never about love; it was about fear, my fear. I’m sorry, Gerta.”

“Auggie!” It was Clay’s voice shouting above the death knell of the building. “Out here! Get a move on; it’s all coming down!”

Gert’s eyes were closing. She was still smiling.
“I’ll wake from this dream to finally find myself in Heaven. Sing to me again, Augustus. I was dreaming of singing. It was beautiful.”

The floor was cracking and collapsing by the bed. Auggie ran to Gillian and lifted her up. She groaned and coughed painfully. He tossed the carpetbag out the window.

“I … love you … Augustus,”
Gerta said, her voice beginning to distort.
“Thank … you.”

Auggie pulled Gillian over his shoulder and struggled through the broken window. He looked over his shoulder back at Gerta, wreathed in flames.

“Rest now, beloved,” he said.

The floor of the apartment crashed down and part of the wall gave way as well. Auggie fell toward the bed of the wagon below. He managed to turn his body to protect Gillian from the impact with the wooden bed. He groaned in pain as he hit, then turned to cover her from the rain of debris that followed him down.

“Where’s Gertie?” Clay shouted from the buckboard.

“She chose,” Auggie said. “She finally got to choose for herself, Clay.”

Clay opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He looked at Auggie blankly, then to the rapidly collapsing inferno that had been Shultz’s General Store. He climbed down from the wagon.

“Get Mrs. Proctor out of here, Auggie,” he said. “Be careful and good luck to you. You’ve been a good friend. Better than I deserve.”

Clay walked toward the burning building. Ash and glowing embers drifted around him, like fireflies. He stopped and looked back at Auggie.

“I love her. I’ve always loved her.”

He walked into the fire, vanishing into the smoke.

Auggie struggled onto the buckboard and took the reins. He watched as his and Gerta’s life here in Golgotha turned to hot ash. He waited for Clay, but he knew he’d never come out. After a moment, Auggie looked back at Gillian, breathing softly in the bed of the wagon. He tugged on the reins and felt the wagon lurch forward. He headed south, out of Golgotha.

Death

There were no guards at the entrance to the mine. Highfather, Pratt and Mutt approached cautiously anyway, blades and guns drawn.

“Where is everyone?” Harry asked.

“In there,” Mutt said. “Doing what we came to stop, I’d reckon.”

“Grab some lanterns,” Highfather said as he watched another star flare and fall from the firmament. “We don’t have long.”

They descended the main tunnel, Highfather and Pratt to the sides, lantern in one hand and sword in the other, Mutt in the middle, taking the advance, his shotgun sweeping across the dark gulf that stretched before them. They paused often to make sure there were no oil-faced sentries waiting for them behind the wooden timbers that framed and supported the massive sloping corridor.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach the first annex. There were two smaller shafts extending off from the main tunnel in either direction. Crude chalk markings on the wall provided directions to the different shaft designations. Highfather examined them for a moment and then nodded to the left.

“This is the way to the new vein. Bick said that was where the chamber was. What’s our time?”

“My watch is broken,” Harry said. “I don’t know.”

“About noon,” Mutt said. “Give or take. I’m pretty good ’bout stuff like that.”

“All right, keep moving,” Highfather said. They continued down the left corridor. It was narrower, and they had to go single file. Highfather took the lead.

“Any ideas how we’re going to stop whatever it is we’re supposed to be stopping, Jonathan?” Mutt asked.

“I’m working on it,” he said.

The tunnel branched off again. Two of the shafts were sealed with wooden boards and warnings in red paint. The third looked new but poorly braced. The earth tricked down between the shelves of rock and timber; particles of dust floated in the beams of the lanterns.

“My ears just popped,” Harry said. “We must be deep. I hope there aren’t any gas leaks down here.”

“It’s getting hotter too,” Highfather said. “I think we’re close.”

Mutt suddenly cocked his head. He raised a hand and everyone grew silent and still. He sniffed the air and turned back to the tunnel behind them.

“Talk to me,” Highfather said.

“Company coming,” Mutt said. “One. Moving fast and damn quiet. It ain’t one of them, though. Smells like—”

The figure appeared at the edge of the lantern light. Slight, dressed in a heavy black miner’s coat, gloves, pants and boots. White skin, but with long hair, pulled back into a ponytail, Indian-fashion, and half the stranger’s face was hidden by a dirty bandana.

Jon and Harry leveled their blades, but Mutt sniffed again, shook his head in bewilderment and lowered his scattergun.

“Bick sent me,” the stranger said. The voice was a low growl, male. “I’m here to rescue one of the infected. I’ll help you as much as I can.”

“And we’re just supposed to trust you?” Harry said.

“Malachi Bick as a character reference isn’t exactly the best means of introduction,” Highfather said. “And I don’t know you from town, stranger. Mayor’s got a point.”

Mutt knew this was Maude Stapleton. He recognized her scent and this was her, but somehow she had changed not only her voice but also her body language, her posture. Everything she presented now was a deception that this stranger was a man, and a damned good deception too.

“I’m here to save a child, a young girl,” Maude said in her new male voice. “Every second you delay deciding if you want my help is another second people are dying.”

She looked to Mutt, only for a second, her brown eyes softened just a little.

“Please,” she said. “Let me help.”