Death Devil (9781101559666) (22 page)

“See?” Clementine said to Fargo and the doctor. “I told you. My man can tell you every ingredient he's ever added to any medicine he sells.”

“Well, not every one,” Dogood said.

“How's that again?”

“I like to experiment, my love. Sometimes I mix things in to see what they will do.”

Clementine looked at him—and a small trickle of drool leaked from the corner of her mouth.

Dogood didn't notice. He was focused on Fargo and Belinda.

The rope was in his left hand; his right was on Fargo's Colt, which was wedged under his belt. “I'm always looking to improve my cures,” he continued. “I'll add more alcohol. Or more opium. Or use cocaine instead. Or herbs I hear the Indians use. Or mushrooms I find out in the woods.”

“Do you realize the risks you take?” Belinda asked in horror.

“Don't you start,” Dogood said.

“All these years you've been playing with fire and now it has burned you,” Belinda said.

Fargo was the only one watching Clementine. Drool now trickled from both corners of her mouth and her face was twitching. “The medicine that you sold Old Man Sawyer and Timmy and Abigail for their colds,” he said. “What was in it?”

“A new and improved version of my cough elixir,” Dogood boasted.

“What was new about it?”

“A colleague told me about a variety of water celery the Osage Indians use. I just happened to find some so I dried the root and ground it into a powder and added it. That, and some mushrooms I came across.”

“Water celery?” Belinda said. “Are you sure you found the right kind? Some are part of the Apiaceae family.”

“The what?”

“Hemlock,” Belinda said. “My God. If you mixed that with certain types of mushrooms, there's no telling what would happen.”

“You're trying to blame me for Sawyer and Tim and Abby,” Dogood said. “But it won't wash. I've sold the same elixir to others and none of them took to running around the countryside biting folks.”

“You sold some to Clementine, didn't you?” Fargo said.

“Sell a cure to my sweetheart?” Dogood grinned. “I should say not. I gave her a bottle free. In fact, she finished off the first and I gave her a second.”

Belinda glanced at the girl, saying, “Clementine, have you noticed any unusual—” She stopped and gasped. “God in heaven.”

“What are you on about?” Dogood said, and looked over his shoulder. He gasped, took a step back, and bleated, “Oh, please, no, no, no.”

They had seen what Fargo already knew: Clementine McWhertle had undergone a transformation. White froth spilled from her lips, and her eyes, which were open again, were so bloodshot that the whites appeared red. Her face was still twitching and the muscles in her body were like taut wire. She seemed to have forgotten she was holding the derringer and her hand had dropped to her side.

“Clementine, dearest?” Dogood said. “Are you all right?”

Clementine hissed.

For a moment the tableau was frozen. Then Clementine crouched and let go of the derringer and hooked her fingers as if they were claws.

“Fight it, dear heart,” Dogood said. “Get hold of yourself.”

Baring her teeth, Clementine sprang at him.

So did Fargo. He grabbed for his Colt but Dogood shrieked and shoved him just as Clementine pounced. He screamed as she sheared her teeth into his neck.

“Skye, help me!” Belinda cried, struggling against her bonds.

Fargo didn't hesitate. She was helpless there on the floor. Bending, he slid his hands under her arms and dragged her toward the door.

Dogood was screeching and trying to prevent Clementine from biting him again. “Kill her!” he wailed, blood streaming from his wound. “Kill her! Kill her!”

Clementine had hold of his hair and his shirt and was snapping her teeth.

Fargo vaulted Belinda out and slammed the door behind them. He lifted her and made for the stairs but changed his mind. A bedroom was down the hall to the left. Entering, he shut the door, carefully laid Belinda on the bed, and reached into his boot for the Arkansas toothpick. “I'll have you free in a second.”

“Did you see?” Belinda said, aghast. “That fool! That wretched, ignorant fool.”

Fargo didn't need to ask which one she was referring to. He cut the rope binding her wrists and bent and did the same to the rope around her ankles.

From down the hall came a scream of terror.

“She's killing him,” Belinda said, rubbing her wrists. “We have to help.”

“He has it coming,” Fargo said.

“Who are we to judge?” Belinda tried to push by to reach the door.

“We go out there, she'll attack us,” Fargo said.

“What would you suggest? We hide in here and hope she leaves? If she gets away she'll attack others. I don't know about you but I don't want that on my conscience.” Belinda shook her head. “No, I'm a physician. I have to help Dogood whether I want to or not.”

“I'll go first,” Fargo said.

The house had gone quiet. Quietly working the latch, he cracked the door enough to peer down the hall. It was empty. He couldn't tell if the other bedroom door was open or closed. Easing out, he crept toward it.

Belinda was beside him, her hand on his wrist. “Do you hear anything?” she whispered.

“Quiet, damn it.” Fargo remembered how Timmy and Sawyer and Abigail had reacted to the slightest sounds.

The other door was shut. That meant Clementine was still in there.

Fargo put his ear to it. The silence baffled him. The afflicted were always hissing and couldn't stand still for two seconds.

“What are you waiting for?” Belinda whispered.

Fargo gave her a sharp look and she silently mouthed the words, “I'm sorry.” Gingerly working the latch, he firmed his grip on the toothpick and pushed the door in.

Belinda put a hand to her mouth and said in dismay, “Oh, no.”

Charlie T. Dogood's days of selling nostrums to the people of the Ozarks were over. He was slumped against the far wall, his throat ripped open, his shirt glistening scarlet. His eyes mirrored his shock. His mouth was open and his tongue stuck out; the tip had been bitten off.

Clementine wasn't anywhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” Belinda whispered.

Fargo was wondering the same thing. Squatting, he peered under the bed. She wasn't there. He straightened and checked behind the door. She wasn't there. Motioning to Belinda to stay put, he stalked to the closet and yanked it open.

She wasn't there, either. Perplexed, he turned and nearly collided with Belinda. “If you ever do as I want you to, the shock will kill me.”

“How can you joke at a time like this?” Belinda said, staring sadly at Dogood.

“He got what he deserved.”

“So you keep saying. But no one deserves
that
.”

The curtain rustled, and Fargo whirled. But it was only the breeze. He realized the window was open but it had been shut before. Going over, he parted it with the toothpick and warily stuck his head out. Only a few feet below was the porch overhang. “She went out this way.”

“She could be anywhere,” Belinda said.

The barn was dark, the orchard a grotesque menagerie of silhouettes, the rest of the farm shrouded in ink.

“Wonderful,” Fargo said.

“We have to go after her,” Belinda said. “We have to find her and stop her before she hurts anyone else.”

“There's only one way to stop her.”

“Must we be so drastic? I was thinking we could take her alive.”

“We?”

She nodded. “So I can subject her to tests and try to come up with a cure.”

“Belinda . . .”

“I know. You're about to say I'm not being realistic. But as I keep having to remind you, I took an oath to heal people, not to kill them.”

“You could end up like Charlie, there.”

“It's a risk I'm willing to take.”

Fargo stepped to Dogood and reclaimed his Colt. It was spattered with blood and he got some on his hand. He wiped the Colt on the patent medicine man's pants and his hand on his own and said, “I'm not.”

“Two people have a better chance of subduing her than one.”

“No.”

“I can help. I can watch your back. And I promise to do exactly as you say.”

Fargo looked at her.

“I can try.”

“No.”

Belinda wasn't happy. “You're terribly pigheaded. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Every female who ever got to know me.” Fargo closed the window and pulled the curtains and went around the bed. “Keep the door shut.”

“Damn it, Skye. This is a woman's life we're talking about. Now that I know what Dogood mixed in his concoction, I might be able to help her.”

“If I can take her alive, I will.” Fargo started to back out.

“You promise? You give me your solemn word?”

“Aren't they the same?” Fargo almost had the door shut when she addressed him again.

“Be careful. As much as I want to save that girl, I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“Even though I'm pigheaded?”

“You're male. You can't help it.”

Fargo sighed and shut the door. He had the Colt in his right hand and the toothpick in his left as he went down the stairs. Halfway to the bottom he stopped.

The front door was open.

Fargo remembered it being closed. He descended the rest of the way and moved to the parlor. Clementine wasn't there. He glided to the kitchen but Clementine was there, either. The bolt had been thrown in the back door so he knew she hadn't gone out that way.

Every nerve raw, Fargo checked the pantry. Again, nothing. He retraced his steps to the parlor. She wasn't downstairs and she wasn't upstairs. Where else? he asked himself, and edged to the front door.

In the woods an owl hooted.

A sound came from the direction of the barn.

Slipping out, Fargo waited for his eyes to adjust. He wasn't taking any chances. He's seen what these crazies could do and he'd be damned if he'd end up like Dogood and Edna and Marshal Gruel.

Another sound from the vicinity of the barn brought him to the end of the porch.

Fargo crouched. It was important he spot her before she spotted him. His life might depend on it.

One of Dogood's horses whinnied.

Fargo was about to step off the porch when there was a hiss—from behind him.

Fargo whirled and brought up his Colt, or tried to. Clementine was on him before he was halfway around. She pounced on his back. Her nails raked his cheek and she screeched and thrust her mouth at his neck. Off-balance, he tripped off the porch and almost pitched onto his face. It saved him.

Clementine was thrown over his shoulders and landed at his feet.

Fargo took a step back but she grabbed his right boot and yanked. He fell hard, his shoulder blades catching the edge of the porch. His left arm went numb and he lost the toothpick.

With a fierce keen, Clementine scrambled toward him. He went to shoot her but she was incredibly quick. She seized his right wrist and clawed at his eyes. He jerked his face away and received deep scratches on his forehead. His hat flipped into the air.

Fargo sought to grab her hair but his left arm wouldn't work. Her mouth gaping wide, she bit at his cheek. He slammed his brow into her chin. It snapped her head back and elicited a hiss. He tried to heave her off but she had hold of the whangs on his shirt.

Clementine was drooling a flood. Her eyes blazed red with feral fury. She tried to sink her teeth into his throat and he rammed his arm up under her jaw. Thrashing and gnashing her teeth, she sought to sink them into him.

Fargo had to get her off. He couldn't hold her at bay indefinitely. And although he now knew her bites wouldn't infect him, she might sever an artery.

Tingling in his left arm let him know he had feeling in his fingers, and seizing her by the hair, he threw her down.

Clementine pushed into a crouch and bared her teeth.

Using his elbows, Fargo levered erect. He still had the Colt and he pointed it at her. He had her dead to rights but he remembered Belinda's plea and he hesitated. It cost him.

In a bound worthy of a mountain lion, Clementine slammed into his chest. He clipped her on the head and she fell but she was up again in a heartbeat.

Their fight had taken them to the middle of the porch. Fargo retreated to gain more space between them. Clementine came at him but stopped and glanced sharply at the front door.

Dreading what he would see, Fargo glanced over.

Belinda Jackson hadn't stayed upstairs. “Clementine,” she said. “I can help you.”

The madwoman snarled.

“You need to fight it,” Belinda said slowly and calmly. “Use your willpower.”

Clementine blinked and said, “Doc?” and flew at her. Belinda brought up her hands to protect herself. They collided, the impact knocking Belinda into the house with Clementine clinging to her like a cougar to a doe.

Fargo leaped to help and was brought up short by the screen door slamming in his face. He tore it open and darted in. The women were on the floor, Clementine hissing and snapping, Belinda doing all in her power to keep from having her throat torn out.

Cocking the Colt, Fargo jammed it against the back of Clementine's skull.

“No! Please!” Belinda pleaded while struggling. “Take her alive!”