The Travelling Man (35 page)

He hefted the mallet and felt engorged by its weight and the sound it made when it swished through the air and thumped into his palm with a meaty slap. His body cried out in pain and he fought hard to ignore it as he placed his mind on the plain of higher purpose.

Someone grabbed his ankle in a feeble grip and he absently swung the mallet downwards, not caring to see whose head it smashed into. The hand fell away and he kept on walking, never taking his eyes off his prey. The devil might have been wearing Will Daniel’s face but Glenn could almost swear that it was Will staring back at him with hate in his eyes.              

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“You can’t be serious?” Jeanne said exasperatedly. “We’ve only just got out of town and now you want to go back?”

“We have to,” Ellie answered in a small voice, clutching the drawing in her weak hand. She had told them where they needed to go and, in truth, she was too tired to argue. Her drawing had shown her the “where” but not the “why”.

“None of us in good shape here, sweetie,” Jeanne said kindly. “Especially you.”

“I’ll carry her,” Kevin said, limping towards them.

“Jesus, Kevin, you’re not in much better shape than she is. You’ve lost too much blood and that crazy old woman’s first aid kit is not going to cut it; you need a doctor.”

“I’ll manage,” he replied, locking eyes with Ellie.

“Would either of you like to tell me why?”

“It’s the church,” Ellie answered. “We have to get there, and quickly.” She held out the drawing to Jeanne who took the piece of paper and looked as though she was struggling to interpret it. She had shown Deputy Kevin and he had only nodded in agreement without asking any questions. He was her knight and they had to reach the church, and they had to hurry.

“I don’t understand,” the dispatcher sighed.

“Neither do I, but I trust her,” Kevin said strongly. “And if Ellie says that we need to get to St Michael’s then so do I. Look, why don’t you stay here? You’ll be safe and I’ll get back here as soon as I can.”

“Yeah, well that’s not going to happen,” Jeanne said, shaking her head. “There is no way that I’m letting you out of my sight again, Kevin. If this whole thing is about to end then we’re going to be standing side by side.”

Ellie watched as the two adults looked at each other awkwardly. She had watched enough TV to know that they had romantic feelings for each other, but she found it curious that they couldn’t find the words. “Just kiss her, you oaf,” she finally said into the uncomfortable silence. “Just kiss her and let’s get going.”  

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Cassie watched on from her vantage point as Grange shuffled by. His face was now in danger of falling away to dust completely and yet he looked like he was having the time of his life. She peered through the rain and saw Will Daniels and Glenn Jordan start to move menacingly towards each other and Grange clapped his hands together in glee. A strange sound emanated from his throat and it took her a moment to realise that he was laughing. It was a dry and coarse sound, devoid of good humor, and only sounded cold and merciless.

Grange was stooped over now to the point that he was using a cane that looked suspiciously like the one that Cary Borage owned. The end of it dripped with blood and gore and Grange leaned on it heavily. Cassie knew that physically, the ancient man was no match for her. In truth, he looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over, and yet she still felt a hard slab of fear slide over her heart.

She wanted to cut out the hiding shit, step into what little light remained and put a stop to all of this. The madness that had engulfed her town had gone on for far too long and she had let it happen. She had failed to stop the monsters from invading, but no more.

Without realizing it, she had stood and then walked out into the open. Her legs were operating under their own steam and she no longer cared why. Her hand reached down towards the butt of her sidearm as she watched her people tearing themselves apart and she felt sheer, unadulterated wrath fill her soul. Granton was a good town, filled with good people and yet at the first sign of trouble they had descended into chaos and murder without a second thought. Her powerful shoulders shook with the fury, and adrenaline surged through her veins. She was dimly aware that she had felt this before but this time it was so much stronger, as though she was in direct contact with the source.

She saw Buddy Cook from the muffin store throttling Judy Reyes, who was a bank teller. Malcolm Freeman was sitting astride Johnny Baker and repeatedly slamming his face into the dirt. There were similar struggles littering the church ground all around her, as townsfolk were transformed into wild animals that fought and bit and clawed.

Her stomach churned with acidic frustration as a voice appeared over her shoulder. “Just look at the filth, Sheriff,” Grange’s hoarse voice whispered in her ear. “Look at them: animals, vermin. They’re just dying to be put out of their misery, begging for it in fact. Doesn’t it just make you sick? Doesn’t it make you want to pull that trigger over and over and over again until every last one of them lies face down in the mud?” he snarled.

And the thing was that she did. All she wanted to do was to blow all of their damn heads off, one after another. She wanted to rampage through them all, splitting heads and spilling blood for everything that they had brought down upon her town.

The revolver was in her hand before she knew it and the hammer was cocked. The cold silver metal felt like an extension of her arm and it was a righteous weapon; a barrel full of silver bullets to strike down these evil men and women that had so betrayed her.

“Yes, yes,” Grange hissed like a serpent from behind. “Give in to it, give in to the hate, give in to your wrath and embrace your vengeance, Sheriff. We all need a little bloodletting, do we not?” he rasped. “Trust me, it’s good for the soul.”

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Kravis struggled frantically against the arm that had wrapped itself around his throat from behind. Someone large and powerful had snatched him before he’d walked through the doorway and now they were choking the breath from his body.

Muscular hands pulled him backwards, and coarse rough skin flaked off against his neck. He flung his head back as hard as he could muster and felt a nose squash behind the blow, but the grip didn’t loosen. He felt himself start to slip into unconsciousness and, in a last desperate attempt, he lifted his legs and braced them against the doorframe. Using every ounce of dying strength he pushed and launched both himself and his assailant stumbling backwards.

They crashed to the floor and the grip finally disappeared from his throat, leaving him coughing and spluttering for breath. He rolled to the side and turned to face his attacker. He’d found it strange that there had been no sound from his assailant but as he turned, he found the reason. Unbelievably, the thing struggling to stand was the same man that had been murdered in the Town Hall by the mob when they’d lost control. Darrin Broker had been captured and tied up in the kitchen of the Town Hall by the Sheriff, and he’d heard several of the men guarding the prisoner refer to him as Darrin Broker. Now the man that had been beaten to death stood before him, wearing the mob’s rage all over what remained of his face.

The shuffling corpse turned towards him with dark dead eyes and moved as though he was having trouble accessing the correct muscle memories. Darrin Broker’s head was severely dented on one side and the flesh was split open to reveal dry grey matter underneath. His body lurched unsteadily, as though nothing was glued together properly any more on the inside. His face had been beaten to a pulp and his limbs hung at unnatural angles, suggesting a multitude of broken bones. And yet he still walked forward.

Kravis ducked out of the way easily as Broker swung an awkward arm towards him. The corpse was slow and cumbersome, but he was blocking the stairs and that was a problem.

He knew that Grange had arranged for the sentry standing guard and he immediately worried that the puppet master knew what he was up to. Had he really thought that Grange would not know everything? Would he not know what plans and dreams lay in the hearts of all men? It was his business, after all.

He suddenly remembered that he was packing Deputy Kevin’s firearm and he pulled it out from the back of his pants with a trembling hand. He was not proficient with guns and he tried to remember Cassie’s brief instructions. He slipped the safety off and raised the weapon but was horrified to see Broker’s yawing jaws inches from his face. Strong hands grabbed him by the shirt and drove him backwards until his back hit the wall. He fought desperately to lift the gun into Broker’s face as the corpse’s soundless mouth opened wide. Kravis managed to jam the steel barrel into Broker’s mouth and pulled the trigger. The bullet blasted out through the top of Broker’s head in a bloodless splatter. Kravis knew that the only way to kill a zombie for good was to destroy the brain and he shoved the thing away from him in disgust. The only trouble was that Broker didn’t lay still and started to stand again.

Kravis’ stomach recoiled at the sight of half of Broker’s head now missing. The man seemed to have trouble focusing now that he had only one eye and he swung around in an attempt to snare his prey.

Kravis stepped nimbly around the corpse and ran for the wooden staircase behind it. He felt hands brush against his collar and for a moment he thought that he was caught, but as he strained forward he broke free of the failing grip. He was half way up the staircase when he felt the tickle of spiders on his neck, but when he reached around to brush them away he found several of Broker’s fingers still clutching his collar.

He hurried up the stairs as fast as he could manage, trying to ignore his various wounds. Time was growing short now and their window for survival was growing ever narrower.

He reached the top of the staircase and pushed his way into the small room at the top of the church. There, the dull shine of black metal greeted him and he prayed that it would be enough.

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Cassie’s blood boiled and all she could see was the white hot anger that flooded her vision and drowned any rational thought from making an appearance. The trigger in her hand itched to be pulled and to spit fire into the crowd of ungrateful ingrates that sought only to take and take and take from her, no matter how much she gave.

She watched on helplessly as residents turned on each other with slashing weapons and bloody fists vomiting into the face of her town.

“Do it,” Grange whispered seductively into her ear with rancid breath. “Finish them all, blow them to hell,” he cackled. “Do it, do it, do it!”

Dimly she heard the hammer start to rise before it fell and started to blow very large holes in very small people. She had no way of stopping it now, no way of turning back. There were no words to halt the slaughter this close to the source of the infection, as Grange clapped his ancient papery hands together in delirious ecstasy.

And then the bells chimed.

The antique church bells of St Michael’s clanged as Kravis pulled the ropes for all he was worth. The sound was a purifying purge that broke through the red storm overhead and was like a wave of fresh crystal water that landed on every set of ears on the battlefield. The warring townsfolk suddenly started to become aware of what they were doing and who they were doing it to. Faces fell as realisation dawned with horror and eyes were cast down to bloody hands in disbelief. Everyone in town knew of the significance of the St Michael’s Bells; it was steeped in their history and part of their very souls. It was a rallying siren’s song that brought them together in times of loss, a call to arms for Granton, a call for unity.

“No!” Grange gasped in shock. “Why are they stopping, what are they doing?”

“Remembering,” Cassie said faintly as her own sanity started to return. “Remembering who we are.”

“I won’t allow it,” Grange rasped as he swayed unsteadily on his feet, looking older than ever. “This is my town now, these are my people, and they belong to me!”

Cassie watched on as battered and bloody townsfolk helped each other up and tended to wounds. She looked up as the red rain started to falter, seemingly losing power in line with their master.

She looked over at Grange now as he leaned heavily on his stolen cane, barely able to stand anymore. His body was stooped with the ravages of sudden ageing and she couldn’t help but wonder just how old the monster really was. The flesh hung from his bones and she could hear his breathing thin and raspy in his reedy chest. Around them the storm was dying and so, by the look of him, was Gilbert Grange.

She noticed that he was clutching onto his case for dear life as the dark leather sides pulsated with inner life. “You’ve gotten rich off this town,” she said, nodding towards his bounty.

“I’ve gotten rich off a lot of towns, Sheriff,” he grinned through a mouthful of rotten teeth. “But now I’m done. Consider this my retirement plan.”

“You’re done, alright,” Cassie snarled. “But before you go, you’re going to leave that case behind and everything in it.”

Grange responded by laughing long and hard until he started to cough and gag on his own hilarity. “Oh, Sheriff, you really are too much,” he spluttered. “Do you really think that you have any options here? What are you going to do?  Shoot me with your big gun? I have endured all manner of attempts to end me and I hate to tell you this but none have ever taken. I have been stabbed, shot, hung, drowned, beaten and every other manner of death that your tiny mind could think of, child.”