Author's Note: I'm on vacation so I'm taking time to update this story. :) I'd like to keep adding to it because although I don't have the greatest track record with updating, the idea of this fic is too good to pass up. If you read enough to become interested, please leave a review. I value any and all feedback. And now, without further ado...
Four: Everybody is Drowning
The saloon has a cellar! I'm such an idiot for not realizing it before, but it's difficult to find the place in the dark. Where there were once lamps and candle light, now only the night reigns. It's a true ghost town. And I still feel like I'm trapped between the worlds of the living and the dead.
When I finally reach the remains of the Starlight I fly down into the small hole in the floor, securing the door behind me and taking refuge among empty crates and a few barrels of cheap grain alcohol. It's musty and cold and my eyes take a while to adjust to the dark. Shaking and somewhat nauseous, I sit against the back wall, gun drawn and gaze alert. I won't fall asleep this time, that's for certain.
"So Durant is… one of them," I whisper. "And Ruth. And Gundersen is dead. And Hannah Durant…" I squeeze my eyes shut. "They're all dead. How many more are there? What…?" I'm talking to no one. And what I have to say is ludicrous, even to me. So many questions and no conceivable answers. All alone in the dark, I will die here, just like I was supposed to, covered in sweat and blood.
Some minutes later, a scraping above causes my hair to stand on end. It moves slow, coming closer and closer toward the cellar door. I feel sick, so anxious. There are two bullets left in my pistol and when those are spent, I've got a small, rusty blade to fight with. Brilliant. I can already see this ending so very well for me.
The initial shuffling is joined by two or three more movements and my cynicism deepens. A group. Excellent! My fate is sealed. This cellar will be my tomb. I catch myself jumping slightly at a bang on the wood. It's just a mindless barrage with no real strength behind it but I suppose it makes no real difference. They'll get in eventually and then I'll be cornered. I can only comfort myself a little as I half-heartedly look and feel around for something else to use as a weapon. I'll get them drunk and then give them a fatal series of splinters. It's hardly a plan but maybe I can create a diversion. Weasel my way out, as it were.
The pounding continues and is joined by growling and groaning. It sounds almost painful to be one of these… undead. They seem to have no control of their bodies or actions and it makes me wonder if there is anything of a mind left inside their heads. If any part of the original person remains, perhaps just watching from a distant vantage point, trapped in a cage with no way out. But from the way their eyes are, glazed over and unrecognizable, unresponsive to what should be familiar stimuli… it seems unlikely. It may even be sad if it weren't so frightening.
I'm stumbling around like one of them, trying not to shoot myself in the process. On the right side of the room, near the wall, my foot touches something long. Reaching down, I grasp the object, hefting it up to my side. Heavy but solid, this crowbar is exactly what I need right now, and thank you Lord for such a gift. Over my head the cellar door protests a bit; I return to the back wall to wait.
I decide not a moment too soon that the gun is safer on my hip and the crowbar better off in my hands when the door breaks and the first of them begins to amble down the steps. I grip the metal until my knuckles hurt and try to assess just how many of these things I'm up against with what little moonlight that spills through the ceiling.
"You can do this," I say as a Sioux brave drags himself toward me, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He must have been strong in life because I can see his muscles ripple in the dimness, but he's riddled with bullets now and looks more than angry about it. His teeth gnash and he makes a grab for me from a few feet away. I gather what courage I have left and swing with all my might. The crowbar catches him in the shoulder and I do my best to twist and throw him to the ground. Somehow it works — and after a few seconds of trying to free the bar, I shove the straight end through his temple, releasing brain and blood around my feet. It's disgusting but effective. I remember, from the first time. Ruth.
Dear God, I'm out of breath! And here comes another one. Thankfully they're somewhat slow to approach. It gives someone like me a little more time to recover. I haul the crowbar up to ear-level and swing away, hoping to hit a face or head. It connects, but I can't say where. My eyes are closed. I tear downward; there's a flailing and I step back so I don't get knocked to the ground by grabbing hands. I glance hard toward the stairs; I can make out arms and legs and I hear their moans. I'm too slow! Soon I'll be overrun…
What the bloody hell?! A gunshot, followed by another and another, has me ducking to the ground for cover. All noise in the small room ceases with the exception of my breaths and the sound of footfalls.
"Hello?" It's a man, though not a voice I recognize. But it's a voice nonetheless. I stand, holding tight to the crowbar. He points his firearm right at me and says, "Hands up!" I can't get myself to relinquish my newfound weapon, so only my left meets his command. Stepping forth from the shadows eases the tension some. "Oh, hell. It's you." My stomach flutters.
"Me? And who might you be?" Damn, my throat hurts. I hardly sound like myself. The man slowly withdraws his weapon. I loosen my grip on the crowbar only just a little bit.
"Bohannon sent me. I was charged with clearing out the town as well as finding anything or anyone that might still be alive. You seem to be it, Lily Bell." I smirk, breezing past him to climb the stairs. The man follows and we leave a trail of dead behind us.
"Well, then. Thank you… for your assistance. I was surely done for." He nods, tipping his hat slightly. The sun is rising in the distant east, its wispy light illuminating the man's horse pawing at the dirt. My savior looks weary and I can tell he was once clean shaven. He's got brown eyes to match his dark hair and seems fit enough to fight. Obviously this wasn't his first encounter. "Where are they?" I ask. I swallow to stop my voice from shaking.
"Well, to be honest, there aren't too many of us left. Weren't that many to begin with at the bridge, but after the battle…" I nod. At least Cullen survived. "We made camp some miles south. Can't tell you how many, can't tell you much else, really. That's all there is. From the looks of it, you already know what's been going on. Speaking of, are you all right, m'am? You look like, well, to be frank, hell." I roll my eyes.
"We don't have much time now." I drop the crowbar and move to mount his horse. I just want to get out of this town and back to Cullen... And I have a feeling I haven't even glimpsed the true extent of the nightmare. He stops to help me up.
"My name is William," he says, checking his ammo and then climbing on after me. Then he offers me a canteen and I take a long drink from it. The water feels wondrous on my throat. "William Halloway. Call me Bill, if you'd like." I cap the vessel and sling it around my own shoulder.
"Shall we, Mr. Halloway?" He seems unfazed by my abruptness and we get moving, trotting off and away from the sunrise. I think it's clear that I don't want to make conversation and he seems to respect that, though I can't help but wonder at his timing. It may be unwise for me to trust someone so easily but who else is there? He's the first living person I've met since the ambush that hasn't tried to kill me.
We reach the bridge by sun up. My heart is relieved some to see it still standing. Our monument endured. This time. How many more trials will it have to face? And there is the fact that more bridges need to be built as more track needs to be laid. Will we be able to defend them all so successfully?
"You're a soldier." It isn't a question and Halloway isn't surprised.
"I was sent to this site to help. A small company of men and myself with a couple of matchstick rifles and a cannon. We made out all right until the ones we'd killed got up and started trying to eat us." I can't imagine their battle. While we were going up in flames, they were beating back the undead.
"There are others on their way?" The long pause between us is a enough of an answer for me.
"Quite honestly, Mrs. Bell… I don't know."