McCall had witnessed some horrible things in his life, but watching a nephew eat his uncle topped the list. The viciousness with which the boy killed his own kin shocked McCall to his core.
The sheriff hadn't died easy or quick. After several minutes, his screams began quieting as he choked on his own blood.
When the boy first went to work on his uncle, McCall had yelled and banged on the bars, trying to get the attention away from the sheriff. No man deserved to die like that.
As it became clear that nothing would distract the deputy, McCall sat on his cot and watched the scene play out while he tried to deduce a means of escape.
Blood and gore covered the surroundings. The young deputy didn't seem to believe in dining room etiquette while he ate people. He'd dug into the sheriff's stomach, pulling out his innards, which now decorated the walls, floor, and weaponry.
Shortly after the last of Stanley's dying gurgles, his nephew abruptly stopped. Slowly turning, he looked at McCall with his black, soulless eyes. McCall didn't flinch, and returned the intense look. During their brief stare down, McCall wondered if fear and intimidation would work on the boy, or whatever it was he had become, the way it did on animals and people.
It didn't. The deputy rose and staggered toward the cell, his outstretched arms reaching through the bars like the two men to the right. A loop of intestines hung from his left shoulder, sprinkling its foul contents with every jarring step. The entire room smelled of copper and shit.
Looking back at the boy, McCall felt he had been right to say these were no longer men. Something had changed them, and it didn't look like they would ever be the same again.
Over the deputy's shoulder, through the door to the jailhouse, McCall spotted a few people meandering by the door. Though the jail was filled with the moans of the three monsters surrounding him, he could hear similar sounds coming from the street.
If there were more people like this outside, then McCall wasn't so sure that escape was his best option. Maybe he should ride this out until someone came and took care of Deputy Aaron, and whoever else was wandering the streets.
His cell, which seemed like a death trap only moments before, could be his salvation. All things considered, he was relatively safe in here. When he'd first been locked up, he'd checked every bar, shaking them vigorously as he looked for any weakness. He didn't find any.
What if no one came before the marshals arrived tomorrow afternoon? What good would the protection of his cell do if he'd be hanging in the gallows tomorrow anyway?
Besides, who was going to save him from these things in an unarmed town? Without guns, he wasn't sure anyone could defend themselves, let alone mount a rescue to save a jailed outlaw.
McCall rose from his cot, coming within a few inches of Aaron's reach. Moving to his left, he kept a close eye on the kid, studying the boy's reaction.
Instead of retracting his arms and moving closer, the deputy tried to stretch through the gaps in the bars even further. He was acting like an animal and didn't seem to have any kind of problem solving capabilities.
Spotting the gun sitting against Aaron's hip, McCall squared off in front of him, just out of his reach. If he moved fast enough, he could remove the gun from its holster and shoot the deputy down. That would solve one problem.
Unfortunately, McCall had watched Sheriff Stanley put the cell's key into his pocket. The lawman's body was a good ten feet away – there was no chance of reaching him.
The setting sun had begun casting long, dark shadows across the floor and walls. The angle of the light made it difficult to see the other side of the room for McCall.
When a woman stepped into the doorway, McCall couldn't make out any of her features. She stood in the door in silence. Her silhouette didn't betray any information as to her mental state.
"Lady, I suggest you run on out of here just as fast as you can," McCall said.
She didn't respond.
McCall drew in breath to yell more warnings, when the moan escaped her.
Damn.
Her body pitched forward, propelling her through the door and into the office area. Paying no attention to the sheriff's body, she crossed the room and stumbled into the back of the deputy. The force of the collision slammed his head against the iron bars on either side of his face.
McCall watched closely, looking for any sign of anger or pain; anything that would come close to an emotion other than the empty, yet somehow ravenous, look that stuck there. Nothing registered on his face.
The woman managed her way around the deputy with a dearth of grace, settling in beside him. A massive hunk of flesh was missing from her neck. The front of her yellow dress was adorned with what had once been white daisies. Now that they were caked with blood and dirt, the flowers resembled something from an artist's nightmare. Large patches of blonde hair were absent from her scalp, some of which now stuck to her gore soaked clothing.
With two of these things in front of his cell, McCall decided that if he was going to get out of this mess, it would have to be soon. There was no telling how many more stalked the streets.
Thrusting his right forearm up, he slammed it against both of the deputy’s arms, pushing them high and away. Dropping to a knee, he reached through the bars with his left hand and grabbed the pistol that hung from Aaron's hip. As he pulled back on the butt of the gun, the hammer caught against the holster.
McCall yanked on the gun, jamming the deputy against the bars, but didn't free the pistol. Lifting up instead of back, McCall managed pull the gun clear. As he did a pair of hands grabbed the collar of his shirt, reeling him forward. The brim of his hat struck the bars and toppled from his head.
The gaping mouthed woman pulled him closer. McCall grabbed onto her wrist, trying to wrench her hand free of his clothing. Separating them on his second attempt, he shoved her arm away just as Aaron got both of his hands around the back of McCall's neck.
Dropping the gun behind him, McCall put his left hand against the nearest bar and pushed himself away from Aaron's bloody mouth. The woman, seeing his hand on the bar, bobbed her head down, missing his fingers by inches. Her crooked teeth clanged against the bar, shattering several of them.
Jerking his hand away from the bar, McCall barely got it out of the way of her second attempt. Her mouth hit the bar again and her jagged teeth tore into her lower lip.
Without the ability to place his hands on the bars, McCall was slowly being pulled into Aaron's waiting maw. Struggling against his hands, McCall tried to pull them away from his neck, but couldn't break Aaron's grip. The only thing preventing his impending doom was one of the other men in the neighboring cell. He'd managed to grab onto McCall's shoulder and was pulling him in the opposite direction.
Swinging his head around in wide, frantic arcs, McCall looked for anything that could help him. A shaft of light glinted off a barely visible piece of the axe blade that was buried in the man's chest.
Reaching out with his right hand, McCall grabbed the handle of the axe and tore it from his chest. The blade scraped against the man's ribs as it pulled free, sending bits of white bone and red tissue falling to the floor.
Lifting the tomahawk above his head, McCall brought it down on the left elbow of the deputy. The blade was dull and didn't do the damage that the outlaw hoped for, but it was enough to loosen Aaron's grip a bit. McCall rained another blow down on the joint, cutting through most of the tissue. The grip strength in that hand evaporated and McCall was able to force himself away.
The other man's hand remained on his shirt, but McCall was able to extract himself from it with a quick jerk of his shoulder.
Falling back on his cot, he took long, deep breaths. In front of him stood Aaron, pressing against the cell, with outstretched arms. The one McCall had taken the axe to hung at the elbow. A patch of skin and muscle were all that held his arm intact with only a small amount of blood pattering the floor. No pain or concern registered on A
aron's face. Mad Dog McCall had never imagined, let alone witnessed, anything like this. He wasn't sure anyone had.
A moan from yet another source wafted into the cell. Movement caught McCall's eyes from behind Aaron's legs.
The sheriff, lying on the floor, covered in his own blood and organs, turned his head and looked at McCall with black eyes.
Chapter 7