The Fifth Rider: New Damascus, Page 2
A Park
“It's all yours, darling – let's see 'em.”
The other workers sitting at the table laughed too, hooting and calling out what they must have thought was encouragement. There were empty bottles rolling underneath their feet, clinking against the table legs, and Bonnie knew she should have thrown them out an hour ago but they kept a steady pile of money on her counter. It was the same game every night, wait out the drunken gropes and insults until their money ran out and she could chase them off.
This one though, with dirt clinging to the ends of his moustache and the yellow tint of jaundice in his eyes, had a stomach for the harsh stuff she hadn't anticipated. Already the tension inside her cookshop cum bar was swelling like a balloon and Bonnie feared she had missed the point of the night when she could have kicked them out without something truly horrible happening.
“Come here, I said.” He slammed the dollar down onto the table, knocking over some of his companion's drinking glasses. One shattered to the floor. Bonnie looked up, frightened, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the cloth in her hand tight.
“Are you so well off you can piss away good money like this? The tent whores all end up fightin' and trying to scratch each other's eyes out over who gets to suck my cock with this kind of cash flying around. Fuck you.” He spit onto the ground, rising shakily to his feet. Bonnie took a careful step back, trying to reach to behind her counter.
“This fucking place... name a man can't pronounce, whisky that's more piss than liquor, and dried up old husks like you for women. You aren't a prize, darling, don't get me wrong, but after working on the lines baking in your skin all day a man wants to see some tits.”
The table roared in agreement and more men tried to stand to their feet, some unsuccessfully. Bonnie made a dash for her counter, but the rail worker grabbed her sleeve, catching her and twisting her arm painfully. She could smell the whisky on his breath, and the sour tang of desperation. She snapped her foot up into his groin and heard her sleeve tear before she felt herself stumbling back.
The rail workers were laughing at their lead troublemaker, who was wheezing over her counter. Bonnie ducked and reached for the shelf Alton had installed for her when she decided to start selling whisky.
“You fucking cunt!”
Bonnie felt her head snap back painfully as something hard and meaty struck her across the face. Grappling, her hand closed around the hilt of her shotgun and she stuck the muzzle into his gut.
“Show us your skin, woman, show us...”
To her amazement, the rail worker ignored the gun pressed up against him. It was as if he didn't even realize it was there, his eyes so intent on her. He reached with a dirty hand for the buttons of her blouse and tried to yank it open. Did he think she wouldn't shoot? Did he think a woman lacked the courage to pull the trigger?
A deafening 'boom' rang throughout the cookshop and the rail worker was flown back off his feet. Something wet splattered against Bonnie's face and she felt her chest hitch in a scared cry. The rail worker had been slammed back into her counter, a stupid expression on his face as he looked at the mangled crater his stomach used to be. Other men behind him had shrapnel or bits of wood sticking out of their faces or arms.
It was over now, it had to be over, they would all leave her alone... Bonnie stared aghast on the floor as the rail worker with his stomach shredded poked the wound curiously and then looked back to her, the same hunger on his face.
“I bet they're not so bad... You could be pretty, darling. Let us make you pretty...”
With solid steps he moved towards her again, the other rail workers rising as one and advancing towards her. Bonnie fired the shotgun again, but it had little to no effect on the crowd at all. Feeling hands and warm blood dripping from the press of bodies, pinning her to the floor, Bonnie resorted to her last futile weapon and screamed.
***
“We won't have them anymore. Tell your men to stay away.”
“We've already caught the ones involved in this mess and hung them. There's no cause to turn away everyone.”
“No matter. We aren't open to your workers anymore. No one's selling liquor in this town anymore, and we won't be trading anything else.”
“Be reasonable, these men need food and supplies. We're helping unite America. This whole business has been unfortunate, but you're overreacting. One woman running her own saloon without any protection? You should have expected trouble.”
Jacob turned his head, the voices outside growing more heated and ugly. His head was spinning too much for him to bear the argument between Alton and the rail line's foreman. This was talk he knew he was useless for, this rutting and bumping of personalities. Men needed to argue and push to reach a resolution, and this was the way of the land he knew, but he was too soft perhaps, too wanting of peace.
It saddened him that the task before him was one he was better suited for, as he wished the burden lay elsewhere. Finishing the Lord's prayer, he gently closed Bonnie's eyelids, crusty and stiff with dried blood.
He sucked in a deep breath and covered her face with a sheet. Gently, and with as much reverence as he could, he lifted her body and carried her in his arms. The cookshop was in a shambles, with holes blown into the roof, tables overturned, shattered glass underfoot and the bodies of a couple men still pushed into the corner. Alton had refused to let the foreman bring in men to cart their dead away until Bonnie had been taken care of. From what Jacob had seen of the other dead men, he had been disturbed to the core by the nature of their wounds.
Bonnie had been bitten savagely over every inch of skin. They were savage, tearing bites that looked more like she had been attacked by a pack of wolves than men. Jacob was sure they had savaged her breasts too by the pattern of blood that had soaked through her shirt. He had almost been sick on the floor beside her when he saw the evil condition her body had been left in.
Carrying her still frame in his hands, Jacob picked his way through the glass and chaos and towards the door, his heart beating fiercely in his chest that at least she would have the sun warm her face one more time. The look in his eyes must have been frightful when he brought her out of the shop as it silenced the foreman and Alton's argument for a moment.
The foreman, an older man with white whiskers and a face browned from the sun, at least had the decency to look repulsed by her mangled arms and body. Before he could say anything, Jacob turned to Alton.
“Where are her children?”
Alton had a similarly sick look on his face, and he had to force himself to look away from Bonnie's arms back to Jacob before he could reply. “They're at the Miller farm... they've been asking to see her. I don't think they understand what's happened yet.”
The foreman squirmed uncomfortably, pulling his hat from his head and twisting it in his hands. “We've done everything to the letter of the law. Those men are hung, there's been justice done.”
Jacob looked at the foreman, contempt's pen drawing its sharp lines around his eyes. “Does anything inside that shop look lawful to you, sir? Does any of it look like justice? This is what happens when devils are made stronger than men.”
Jacob hefted Bonnie's corpse in his arms, re-adjusting the sheet so even in death she could still have the dignity of her abused face covered, and pushed past the foreman. It was a long walk back to his chapel and he felt the world crushing down on his shoulders with every leaden step.
***
“Father, please rest for a moment.”
The voice was somewhere far away, far up in the land of the sun and it sounded as if he were underwater.
“Father... Jacob, you'll kill yourself. Stop and rest for a moment.”
Jacob turned his head, his eyes blinded by the sun as he searched for the phantom voice. He suddenly felt a hand, cool and smooth, grasp his and before he knew it he was being pulled out of the pit and stumbling into the land above. Coughing, Jacob spat out dirt and grit from his mouth, his eyes adjusting finally to the harsh light as he saw El
lie push a chilled bottle into his hand.
“You know this isn't digging ground.”
Jacob staggered a little and planted his shovel into the sand, leaning heavily on it as he pressed the chilled bottle to his sore brow. “I know.”
“You can't dig in sand.”
“I know, Ellie.”
She had her arms folded against her chest, her blonde hair tucked carefully away under a wide-brimmed hat. It looked as if nothing, not the sun nor the sand, could ruffle her. Jacob felt like a mess beside her, his shirt soaked completely through with sweat, sand and grit in his hair and teeth, and dust smeared on his cheeks, his hands cracked raw.
She gave him a look that felt as if she were taking him all in...blood, sweat, spit and sand, and was satisfied with what she saw. It gave him a peculiar feeling. “You should use rocks instead.”
Jacob popped the bottle cap and gratefully sucked down the sarsaparilla she must have been keeping in an underground cellar, it was shockingly cold and numbed his throat. “Rocks?”
“You can't dig a grave here, not in this place. But you can pile rocks on top of her...it's another way to mark someone's passing.”
Jacob laughed embarrassedly, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. He felt completely transparent to her. “Whose way? The Apaches?”
Ellie shrugged. “Does it matter? Make it your way. Anything's holy when blessed by a preacher man.” She raised her eyebrow up as if to ask if that was right, or perhaps to see if he would contradict her.
Jacob looked to the pitiful hole he had dug, the walls already collapsing inwards and rushing to embrace each other back into sand. Sand, sand...always shifting, always moving like a live thing yet immutable and unchanging. Nothing grew in it, and it covered the world and wiped everything away.
He felt Ellie's hand on his shoulder and realized he had slipped somewhere far away. He gave her an apologetic smile, but she still looked concerned.
“What are you thinking, Jacob?”
Jacob pulled his shovel out of the ground, shaking a spray of sand from it, and slung it over his shoulder. He swept his hand across the horizon and gave her a bittersweet smile. “The future of New Damascus. And that having one would be nice.”
***
“We must find it within our hearts to forgive these men. It is not for us to pass judgment on a man's soul - “
“Do you forgive those men, Father Jacob?”
Jacob looked, startled, at the man who had interrupted him. Samuel Miller stood up, defiant and hard-eyed, and of course, he and his wife had been taking care of Bonnie's children. Still, it was the first time there had ever been an interruption during a sermon and it shattered all of Jacob's illusions that his words, words passed onto him from God, were sacred and untouchable.
“Can you forgive them after they tore her apart, an honest woman just working to get by. Like all of us. What right did those men have to come into our homes and take away what we have all struggled and bled for day after day?”
Samuel Miller was shaking, tears squirting from the corner of his eyes, so thick was his frustration and abject anger. His wife was trying to pull him back down into his seat, but her hands fluttered around him nervously as if he were too hot to touch.
Jacob pressed his small leather bible against his stomach, something inside of him still hoping it was a shield. His mind had been plagued with fears and doubts, his sleep wracked with nightmares of the bite-marks on not only Bonnie's skin but the other dead men. He had never felt so alone, and as if God wasn't watching. He pressed the leather against him and took in a shaky breath. Perhaps he was the last thing keeping these souls, this town from descending into utter madness and evil. If so, it was his responsibility and he was the only one.
“Well, Father?”
“I know you all want an answer from me... that you are all looking to me to guide you. I am but a humble servant, and in being a man I am also prone to our shared flaws and errors. I am angry, just as you. But I also feel sick. I cannot endorse your desire for revenge, for revenge is all that can be reaped from this now. There is no justice man can dispense.”
“And what kind of a man can do such an evil thing?”
I don't know. “All of us. So we must be even more diligent to keep far from any path that would lead us down to such blind and ugly violence.”
Samuel Miller spat on the ground and stamped his foot. Angrily, throwing his distraught wife away from him, he left his pew and stormed out of the church. The door swung violently behind his exit, slamming the foundations and causing them to quiver. Jacob hung his head over his podium, his eyes squeezed shut. That way he could not see, only hear, the other footsteps of men following after Samuel and leaving peaceful means behind.
My town is dying. God help me, I do not know how to save us all from destroying ourselves.
“Father Jacob, please pray for us.”
Jacob looked up, and saw the few faces that remained behind. Ellie shone brightest of all, her normally teasing smile tucked away and only sincere concern left behind. It was a comfort to him, more touching than he had words for, that he had come to rely on her being there.
He was surprised to see Alton, the owner of the general store and the closest thing to a leader in New Damascus, still sitting in his pew. Alton had been the most involved in trying to chase out the rail work crews and the most upset and offended over Bonnie's death. Jacob was sure he had lost Alton's voice in his bid for calm.
“I can understand those men, and that they need to let out their anger somehow. But I think it's a fool who's going to run from the church in these times.”
Jacob stepped down from his podium, sitting wearily down in the front pew. There was no more sermon for today. He looked at Alton's face and saw that it was hardened with resolve, but one born from fear.
“What times do you mean?”
Alton's hands gripped the pew in front of him. “Miller and those other men didn't see Bonnie like you and I did. You were right, Father. Ain't no man not possessed by some evil could do that. And this morning I drew up water from my well but my bucket was overflowing with blood.”
Jacob felt an icy hand trail its fingers up his back and then viciously curl around his spine, a cruel relentless grip that made his throat close over with dread.
Alton was shivering now, his eyes shining. “More fool the man who runs from the church in times like these.”
***
Jacob reached his hand down into the dark, bottomless mouth of the stone well, his fingers skimming against the sides. He felt something slick and cold, gummy between his fingers. Drawing his hand up he found it smeared with something that looked like drying molasses, but already smelled of rot and death. Alton merely gave him a look, both men too shaken to speak.
Ellie reached over with her handkerchief and wiped the blood off his hands. The stench was so foul that she tossed her soiled handkerchief into the well.
“Are the other wells like this?” She asked.
Alton shook his head; he didn't know. Jacob leaned heavily against the stunted tree beside the well, the noonday sun already beginning to sap all of his energy. Absently, he picked at the shrivelled, dry bark when an insidious question began to form in his mind, coiled in the dark like a snake.
“What is it, Father?”
Jacob pulled out the small hand sickle he kept in the waistband of his cassock. Glancing nervously to Alton and Ellie, he then let it swing and bite into the tree bark. Three times he swung and chopped into the tree until he finally hit the live wood inside where what little sap would ooze out.
“Dear God...”
The tree wept red, blood streaming and trickling slowly down the creases and grooves in the bark, drawing its own strange pattern as it dropped to the ground. Jacob took a step back, his sickle still gripped firmly in hand.
“I need to go back to the chapel,” he said quietly. “There are some things I need. If we can't get water from the wells, find some from elsewhere.”
Within the chapel, he closed the door shut behind him with more aggression than usual, as if a solid piece of wood could keep out the blight from outside. The chapel was cool and dark, away from the oppressive sun, and though they were only four walls, he somehow felt safer inside. Rolling up his sleeves, Jacob strode purposefully to the back room and collected his bible, a crucifix, and an incense burner with a chain.
He found Ellie waiting outside the chapel for him and she led him to the Henry ranch. Though it was warm and gritty, they had a trough full of water for their animals. Jacob closed his eyes, one hand holding tightly to his bible and he prayed, drawing a cross over the trough.
“This water is now blessed. Take buckets, both of you, and help me purify the town.” Jacob was already hauling a tin bucket through the holy water, though it still looked as polluted and unremarkable as before. Hefting the bucket onto his shoulder, he grimly set out for the well. He sprinkled the holy water over every door he passed on his way.
