Hell Follows After (Monster of the Apocalypse Saga) (26 page)

As life transitioned into warmer days, the greening of the earth bringing energy to all the animals walking or crawling or flying over it, the processes of survival became easier. This was the season of life renewed, and the long time of winter’s death was easily forgotten.

Open meadow, verdant and fresh, with a small, seasonal brook babbling happily across grey, mossy stones, became a venue for the grand event. A marriage long anticipated was in the offing.

An arbor laced with the freshness of spring graced a space selected with a massive, greening, cottonwood as a backdrop. Chairs in back and blankets on the ground in front invited occupancy, and the people arriving in their finery accepted, gathering in laughing, congenial groups.

A covered wagon was placed in back of tables laden with delicacies, many brought by the assemblage. Inside, the bride stayed hidden in her wedding gown, her entrance intended as an event. Soon she would emerge, much as a blossom or butterfly in the springtime glade.

The groom stood about nervously, accepting attention unconsciously and returning polite conversation immediately forgotten in his excited discomfort. Beside him, Edge played the part assigned a best man. He channeled people in and away so that no one was left out or monopolized the groom’s attentions.

As the day warmed, shawls and jackets were removed and folded to become padding, and the crowd began to quiet. They all knew the time was growing near.

The musicians, playing low background music on guitar, bass, fiddle, and with a tambourine as percussion, became silent.

A big man, dressed in a suit of ancient design, moved to the fore and positioned himself as the official to administer vows. Till looked uncomfortable in the tight tuxedo, putting his finger often to his throat to adjust the collar and looking as though he was trying to stretch it to a larger size. In his hand a thick, dog-eared book hung heavily.

Noting that Till had made his way to a position under the arbor, Edge leaned toward his Master and friend’s ear and whispered that the time had come. Then he moved ahead of Occam, breaking way through the crowd. Occam followed, greeting and shaking hands as he went, still in a daze of excitement, performing his obligations diligently, if unconsciously.

A covered bassinet, positioned to be warmed by the sun but not too much, waited close to the front. Jody moved to it and laid the white-gowned baby inside. The infant dozed as children do, squirming and stretching then settling into a comfortable slumber. Moving to one side of the podium, Jody stood resplendent in her gown of pale lavender. As maid of honor she beamed, even when looking across at Edge. This was a time of joy, and she was determined to stay any dark clouds and shun them for the day, but she still avoided his eyes.

A pregnant moment, filled with anticipation, quieted the crowd.

A single note, long and softly sharp, growing in volume as it held the air, issued from the fiddle. The guitar joined in a flourish of chords with the bass chiming in deeply. A tune picked by the soon-to-be-wed filled the meadow, and the event progressed as a celebration of life, of love, and of joy.

Standing at the rear of the wagon, behind the food-laden tables, Olivia presented her hand to Cable as she descended the steps to the ground. Beaming, he offered his arm, and grinning madly they began the walk down the aisle that would present Olivia to the rest of her life.

As Olivia entered Occam’s sight, he wondered at her beauty. In keeping with tradition, entering a second marriage, she had chosen a gown of color instead of solid white. The skirt flowed about her in frothy palest yellow, her bodice a damask of creamy eggshell pulled tight, accentuating her full breasts until they seemed ready to overflow. In her golden hair, every small flower of yellow or white that could be found in the meadows twined with a vine of tiny green leaves, a halo about her head. But it was her blue eyes that held Occam. He had loved before and loved each of his present wives, looking forward to the fall and seeing them again, but this woman was as special as any of the others, and this was her day. He beamed.

A sudden, dark thought crossed Occam’s mind. He had an image of this woman being abused in a former life, a tragedy as she had no control of her former forced marriage and the man she had wed, and Occam vowed silently that he would provide her with all that she deserved from this day forward. As a man, as a husband, as a friend and lover, he would support her as best he was capable to bloom into the woman she was to become. As he made his mental vow, he shook off all dark thoughts and returned his focus to the day at hand.

Meeting beneath the arbor, Occam took Olivia’s proffered hand and drew her to him. They could not take their eyes from one another. Their bond was too great already.

“Ahem… AHEM!”

Beckoning the couple, interrupting their reverie so the ceremony could begin, Till voiced his insistence in an effort to get their attention. After a slight hesitation, the couple broke their gaze and focused on the task at hand.

“In the presence of all here assembled, we have come together to witness…” Till droned on, and the couple made an effort to follow his words but failed utterly.

They stood, feeling each other’s warmth in each other’s hands, Olivia feeling the rough calluses of a mature man involved in hard labor, and Occam appreciating the small, fine tenderness wrapped within his own.

Occasionally one or the other would engage enough to understand a passage or two…

“… Marriage is a gift through which husband and wife shall be united in heart, body, and mind…”

“… The gift of marriage brings a man and woman together in the delight and tenderness of sexual union and joyful commitment to the end of their lives…”

“… children are born and nurtured...”

“… enriches society and strengthens community…”

“… each give their consent, one to the other, and make solemn vows…”

“… earthly life together.”

Till hesitated, looking up. His eyes passed over the blissful couple before him, studying the assembled friends and loved ones.

“I must ask this question of you here assembled.”

All of the people in the glade knew this part and wished the question could be removed from the ceremony. It was an uncomfortable tradition.

“If any person can show just cause why this couple may not be lawfully joined together, let them now speak or else hereafter forever hold their peace.”

Silence, uncomfortable silence. Someone coughed, trying to stifle it.

The honeymoon had been arranged, and those participating in planning it felt good. Having chosen to donate a light carriage for the couple’s use, a vehicle to deliver them to their accommodations in an opulent hotel in the center of town, Frank picked a matched team to pull it. His man chosen to drive was late, so he determined to do the driving himself.

Checking the covered surrey, making sure there was space for the bassinet, Frank mulled over his tardy employee, wondering. The man was never late, having a solid grasp on where the sun was in the sky.

“Pardon sir.”

Frank turned, startled. One of his more recent employees fixed him with an intent regard. The short, ugly man with the broken face and a pronounced limp stood before him.

“Pardon sir,” he lisped through his crooked jaw, “I see you are awaiting your driver. I fear I have bad news. I have returned just now from town and did overhear that he be injured and taken to hospital. I thought to inform you.”

Face clouding, the news bad indeed, Frank pondered the grin on the little man. He seemed less than appropriately despondent, instead seeming eager. Chalking it up to the man’s wish to be useful, Frank anticipated the next utterance.

“I could drive, sir. I am fully capable of driving your fine horses and would be well pleased to be of service.”

Again, the man smiled a little too intently, his dark eyes probing his employer.

Thinking quickly, sure that the little man had few opportunities in life to overcome first impressions, Frank sympathized with him. His own first thought was to deny the man and do this job himself, but he relented.

“Good, and thanks for the offer.” He motioned toward the carriage seat where a dark jacket and top hat awaited the missing man. “Wear those, and follow along. I’ll just get my horse.”

The little man proved competent, urging the horses easily, gentle on the reins. As he watched, Frank appreciated chance providing this driver out of the blue.

Parking the carriage behind the wedding wagon and tying the reins of the elegant pair to it, the little man faded into the rear of the crowd and promised to be ready when required. As he said it, Frank imagined an odd look in his eye and had a momentary trepidation, but the feeling faded, and Occam’s friend passed off the feeling as a reaction to the man’s less than attractive appearance.

“If any person can show just cause why this couple may not be lawfully joined together, let them now speak or else hereafter forever hold their peace.”

Silence, uncomfortable silence. Someone coughed, trying to stifle it.

A man stood up, small but dressed in a dark coat and wearing a tall hat and thereby seeming overbearing and ominous.

Stepping out and into the open space so recently vacated by the bride, he filled the aisle. Some had not noticed him immediately, but nudged into awareness all eyes turned to him eventually. The last eyes to turn, to comprehend, were those of the bride and groom.

S
ometimes it takes a while. Sometimes cognizance has a span of time attached to it. Sometimes recognition must be embraced to be mulled, and sorted, and weighed, until an awakening in the mind brings clarity.

This was not one of those times, but shock made the moment drag as though buried in thick molasses.

Perhaps Edge put the pieces together first. After all, he had observed the man and thought him familiar long before others even noticed him. There was a small murmur… and the universal thought, if not audible on every lip, at least in every mind that knew the man…

“It’s Arc.”

What man knows the blackness in another man’s heart? How can any man know from where or when a slight, intended or imagined, might scar a perfectly formed heart into malignancy? The small man, much maligned in his early years over his diminutive stature, and given abundant reason to be overly defensive and hateful, weighed his options one last time.

Arc knew he could back away, now identified, and the ceremony would be interrupted to dissolve into a tragedy. But soon enough he would have to deal with any fallout and likely be abused once again. If there had ever once been any attraction that anyone here had for him, the feeling had been quashed by his absence and the stories told by his young wife. Those tales would have passed as gossip and become embellished until all here thought him a monster.

Hot anger rose in Arc as he perused the possibilities and imagined what they would bring if allowed in some continued future. Resentment, built and nurtured, existed within his mind and heart, and the coals inside his chest were now being stoked to create a raging fire.

Just as all decisions are made, Arc came suddenly to enlightenment. Where he had quailed away, questioning his course in the days and weeks before and on the short drive from town holding the reins to the bridal carriage, he always had some doubt. Not that his vengeance would not be satisfied but in what fashion would be best. Now the last moment of decision had arrived. Arc had to step back… or step forward into the abyss his heart had left empty before him.

As though in slow motion, the hand of hate placed itself between the shoulder blades of the little man… and pushed.

Her heart folding in upon itself, unnoticed by her own mind, Olivia went to the ground as her knees buckled. Sitting, she swayed, still grasping Occam’s hand in hers but unfeeling. Merely an effort to hold on to something substantial, something with some kind of permanence, her hand brutalized his in her fear.

Not registering Olivia’s grip, Occam stepped in front of her reflexively. He placed himself between this demon returned from the dead and the woman he had grown to love.

Gathering his thoughts, Till made as if to salvage the moment, knowing it to be in vain before he spoke.

“Ar…”

“SILENCE!”

Moving slowly, as though stalking a wounded animal expected to flee, Arc pulled the black coat back and behind, revealing a holstered pistol. He hesitated, and then drawing the weapon as though in slow motion… cocked and aimed it directly at Occam’s torso.

There was movement in the crowd as they parted away from the evil that flowed off the dark figure.

“This be a married woman,” the armed man announced loudly, “and she be my wife.”

He paused, letting his pronouncement sink in.

“She left me for dead. Left me injured unto death and ran away… and now I find her here, embracing another man in the act of becoming his whore.”

Looking into Occam’s face, Arc wondered if the Smith was the one who had clubbed him in the creek bed. During the act so dark and unexpected, he had seen who wielded the iron bar, but his injured brain had lost all memory of a face. The brutish strength it must have taken suggested a large man, a man of strength, and there were few candidates. But even so, this man was going to pay.

Watching intently, Edge studied the little man’s eyes and also his finger on the trigger. Noticing the way his grip tensed and relaxed, a clear sign of roiling thoughts but a sincere and earnest sign that he was in the act of killing, the young Blacksmith readied himself for action. In his mind he was afraid but resigned to do what was necessary. He understood that anything he did would have to be sudden and, if the chance presented, lethal.

Standing between Olivia and her tormentor, Occam weighed options as well with much the same outcome. One thing he knew, the man was not going to take Olivia back to a life of misery. Even if his own life was forfeit, the little piece of filth was never going to survive. He would sacrifice himself as an unarmed man to make sure that this good, this fine and gentle woman would be free.

Several people in the crowd were armed, but drawing down on a man surrounded by others, all innocent, was a dicey thing. Arc, being positioned inside a group of people, was protected much as he had anticipated.

Patience at an end, Arc made his decision. He now realized he was to be a dead man, and he accepted that. But he was going to take Occam with him, painfully, and as many others as he could.

The big gun spoke.

Reading Arc’s face, Edge flung himself at Occam. The big man was already tensed, and if he had been more relaxed, he might have remained upright while the lesser man slid off, but two hard bodies colliding knocked him off his feet and to the side.

The bullet, intended for Occam’s belly so that he would die slowly, passed through Edge’s hip, a flesh wound. As a result the slug was not stopped, but continued on. Olivia felt nothing, carried back by the impact to lie motionless under the arbor at Till’s feet.

As he rose, Occam bellowed. His eyes had sought out his intended as he was flung aside, and he saw her body wrenched away by the impact. Knowing immediately what had happened, he struggled from under Edge and made toward the object of his wrath. He would kill Arc. He just had to get his hands on him.

The pistol barked, and the next slug took Occam in the chest. He went down, knowing that Olivia’s vengeance would not be by his hand.

Cable, sitting in front of Jody as she stood facing the crowd, rose and drew his own pistol. He was in the best position to take out the madman, being in the front with the empty aisle behind Arc, but he took a bullet in the face before he could aim. Flung from a dead man’s hand, the weapon floated and spun. A hand reached… and snatched the already cocked weapon from the air.

The old pistol that had been retained in Reno at the expense of the buckskin spoke… just as another slug exited Arc’s own weapon. Both bullets found a home. One in the forehead of the disaster of a man that had stalked his young wife… and the other passing through Jody’s ribs as she attempted to fire again.