Mason decided to stay in Boone for the night. Not only would it save him the long, slow drive back to the cabin, but it would also allow him to check out the town after dark. At Father Paul’s insistence, he agreed to sleep in one of the Church’s small dorm rooms once reserved for nuns.
A few hours past nightfall, Mason and Bowie went for a walk around town. Mason carried a small flashlight but kept it off except when navigating particularly congested areas. Bowie stayed close by his side, and Mason wasn’t sure if that was because he was being protective, or simply afraid of exploring a town that was creepier than the Byberry Mental Asylum.
They walked down King Street for the better part of a mile before coming upon a group of men carefully making their way along the sidewalk. Several of them carried pillowcases with goods stuffed inside; others were pushing shopping carts. They stayed close to one another and continually surveyed the street. When they saw Mason and Bowie, they came to a complete stop.
Mason clicked on his flashlight and pointed it at the men’s feet so as not to blind them.
“Good evening,” he said.
After a brief pause, one of the men said, “Evening, Marshal. We’re glad to have you out here.”
The men hustled past, obviously unsure that his presence in any way guaranteed their safety. Bowie sniffed them as they passed but gave only a soft growl.
Mason continued on. The night was cool and extremely quiet. The nearly impenetrable darkness was only broken by flickers of flashlights, candles, and lanterns as people made preparations for the night.
After another few blocks, Bowie cut in front of Mason and stopped, his nose lifted high in the air.
“What is it, boy?”
Bowie looked left and right, taking short sniffs of the cold night air.
Suddenly, there was movement from across the street. Mason instinctively drew his pistol with one hand and flicked on his flashlight with the other. Bringing them together, he scanned left and right, the white light forcing its way through the darkness like a train through fog.
A hunched figure stumbled out of a car and fell to the ground. Bowie leaped forward and let out a tremendous bark. Mason moved a few steps closer, keeping both his light and Supergrade pointed at the man. The figure scrambled to his feet, standing bent over and shielding his eyes from the blinding light.
“No, no, no,” he mumbled.
As Mason got closer, he saw that the stranger was cloaked in a white blanket, resembling something that might be worn by ancient Arthurian druids. The man held his hands up in an attempt to shield himself from view, but in doing so, revealed skin covered in a thick layer of scabs.
“Don’t kill me, Marshal,” he begged. His voice was garbled and hard to understand as if he was chewing a mouthful of worms.
“Why would I kill you?”
“I’m an abomination,” he whined.
“You survived the pox?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Let me see you.”
“Only if you promise not to kill me.”
“I’m no murderer.”
“Not even a mercy killing. Promise me.”
It pained Mason to hear the terrible anguish in the man’s voice.
“I promise.”
The man stood and pulled the blanket down to his shoulders. What Mason saw was nearly indescribable. Every square inch of the man’s flesh was covered with layers of festering sores, blisters upon blisters that had ruptured, only to reform again. His eyes were opaque and milky, his hands twisted from advanced rheumatoid arthritis.
Mason hardly heard himself utter the words, “My God.”
The man quickly pulled the blanket back over his head.
“You promised.”
Mason struggled to collect himself. “I would no sooner kill you than I would kill my dog.” He patted Bowie to emphasize the point and to let the animal know that they were not in immediate danger.
The man scoffed with doubt.
“What’s your name?” asked Mason.
“Erik. And I know who you are. You’re the lawman from the church. I watched you from the shadows.”
“Who’s caring for you, Erik?”
He laughed, but it sounded sick and cruel, like a torturer who had discovered a new instrument of pain.
“They would sooner put a torch to me than offer a single drop of water or morsel of food.”
While Mason had heard nothing of such ostracizing, he could perhaps understand it. Fear could drive people to do indefensible things.
“Are you alone?”
The man looked left and right.
“No,” he muttered. “There are others.” Without another word, he turned and shuffled away into the darkness.
Mason wanted to follow him, to offer Erik something that would ease his suffering. But as he watched the man disappear into the shadows, he found himself without word or action.
It took nearly an hour of walking in the cool nighttime air for Mason to clear the image of Erik from his mind. No one should have to live with such disfigurement. He thought back to the three people lying dead in the truck near his cabin. It made sense now why they might have felt compelled to commit suicide. Death was sometimes preferable to a life of misery.
A light coming from a major side street drew his attention. He turned and motioned for Bowie to follow. When he got close enough, he could make out the Watauga County Hospital. The large overhead sign was dark, but a glow of light came from inside the entrance to the emergency room.
Mason approached the sliding glass doors and saw that they were propped open with two large garbage cans.
“Wait here,” he told Bowie.
The dog cocked its head sideways.
“Don’t play dumb,” Mason said, walking into the emergency room.
Bowie flopped down behind one of the garbage cans with a loud sigh.
The scene in the emergency room could have been that of hospital in a Third World country. Lighting was provided purely by candles in glass jars placed strategically around the large room. A dozen or more people were sitting or standing, obviously awaiting their turn for medical care. An old woman wearing cowboy boots and scrubs sat at a small folding table immediately inside the door. She had on a disposable facemask and vinyl gloves and was busy writing something in a logbook. She was humming a song that Mason would have sworn was “Sweet Home Alabama.”
He stopped and stood patiently in front of the table.
When she finally looked up and saw him, she scrambled to her feet, pulling off her mask and gloves.
“Leave it to a lawman to sneak up on an old woman.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Sneaking up means that you’re up to no good, and I like men who are up to no good.” She winked.
Mason wasn’t sure of what to say, so he just smiled.
“What brings you to our little slice of heaven?”
“I was taking Bowie out for a walk and saw the lights.”
“Your dog is here, too?”
Mason pointed toward the door.
“You know, when I was a little girl, we had a Great Dane that was probably about his size. Sweetest animal you could ever find. I used to dress it in my sister’s clothes.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “Better times, you know?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“It’s wonderful what you’re doing for us, Marshal. You and Father Paul have brought hope back to Boone. I swear one day they’ll erect a statue of you two. Probably right down on King Street, next to that old liquor store that used to get held up every summer.”
“The good Father might deserve a statue in a better part of town,” he said, chuckling.
“Father Paul is a godsend all right.” She held out her hand. “I’m Fran by the way.”
He shook it lightly. She felt frail even beyond her years, as if her bones were constructed of paper mache.
“It’s nice to meet you, Fran.” He looked around the room. “I’m surprised to
see that the hospital is even open.”
“Not to brag, but I was the one who convinced the other nurses and doctors to come back and give this a try. Of course, it’s just the ER for now.”
“You’re a regular Florence Nightingale.”
“Why thank you, Marshal. Like you and your badge, it’s what I do.”
“I get it. End of the world or not, we all have to do something.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Ava said you were a man on a mission. I can see that fire shining in your eyes.”
“A lot of people seem to think I’m here to stir up trouble.”
“What do they know? I say, bring it on.”
Mason grinned. Fran’s enthusiasm was as contagious as the lyrics to an old Billy Ray Cyrus song.
“You and the doctor were talking about me?” He envisioned Ava’s beautiful face.
Fran seemed to see right through him.
“Oh my goodness, you’ve caught the bug.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s okay,” she said, giving him a shrewd look. “Poor Ava’s got it, too. Bit that girl right on the tush.” She laughed, and then her eyes grew wide. “My goodness, I see it now. You’re here to call on her!”
He shook his head a bit too vigorously.
“No, really we just happened this way. We saw the lights—”
“Save it,” she said. “I’ve been around long enough to know the look in a man’s eye when he’s wantin’a little honey. Seen it a few times myself, if you know what I mean.” She winked at him again, making it that much more uncomfortable.
Mason had no idea what to say to a firecracker like Fran, so he just shrugged and said, “You caught me.”
She reached up and placed her hands against his cheeks, like a mother might when inspecting a child she was sending off to school.
“You are a hunk of red meat, all right.”
Mason’s eyes widened. “Thank you, I think.”
“You ever made love to an older woman?” Fran made her fingers into claws and scratched playfully at the air.
His head was spinning.
She started laughing and didn’t stop until she was clutching her sides in pain.
“I’m just funnin’you, Marshal.”
He let out a nervous chuckle.
“I know that.”
“I’m sort of known for my wacky sense of humor. No harm done, I hope?”
He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
“No harm done.”
She turned a bright shade of pink and, for once, appeared speechless.
“I’m curious,” he said, hoping to redirect their conversation, “are you able to treat people who have the virus?”
She touched her cheek on the spot where he’d pressed his lips.
“Not really. We don’t have antivirals, so there’s not much we can do for them. We give out pain medicine to ease their suffering. That’s about it.”
“Aren’t you worried about catching the virus?”
“It’s why we screen people at the door. But the truth is that the virus has already passed. We haven’t seen a contagious case in almost a week.” She gestured to several people around the room. “Mostly, we’re treating dehydration, some heart conditions, and of course cuts, broken bones, and gunshot wounds. Without power, we can’t take x-rays or MRIs, or even consistently monitor patients’ vital signs.”
“Still, you’re helping.”
She smiled. “Yes, we’re helping.”
Ava emerged from one of the treatment rooms and spied Mason across the room. She waved and walked toward him. She was wearing the same green scrubs as earlier in the day, and despite being sprinkled in blood and other bodily fluids, she looked amazing.
“Marshal Raines,” she said with a big smile. “What a nice surprise.”
“I thought I’d walk the town a bit to see what it was like after dark.”
She came close and he could smell a faint trace of perfume.
“I can tell you that all sorts of things happen around here at night,” she said. “None of them good.”
“Something good happened tonight,” Fran said, blatantly nodding her head in Mason’s direction.
Ava turned to him and rolled her eyes.
“Please don’t believe a thing this crazy old coot tells you.” Even as she said the words, Ava leaned over and hugged Fran.
“I think she’s planning our wedding,” he said.
Ava’s eyes opened wide.
“Fran, what did you—”
Fran immediately sat down and started scribbling in her log.
“Get along you two. I’ve got work to do. In case you’ve forgotten, this is a hospital.”
Ava surprised Mason by reaching out and grabbing his arm.
“Come on,” she said with a sigh. “Let me show you around before she names our first child.”
As they turned to leave, Mason heard Fran murmur, “Daniella would be nice.”
Ava led him through the waiting area and into a long hallway with treatment rooms on both sides. Curtains were drawn across most of the rooms, but a few appeared to be occupied. Candles, identical to those in the waiting room, lit each of the small treatment areas. An elderly doctor with thick gray hair was leading a patient out while giving him a small bottle of pills.
Ava pulled Mason over to the doctor.
“Marshal Raines, this is the best doctor in town and my dearest friend, Chuck Darby.”
“It’s good to meet you, Marshal,” he said. “I couldn’t make it to the church earlier, but Ava speaks highly of you. We all appreciate your efforts.”
Mason extended his hand, but the doctor just smiled in return.
“Forgive me,” he said, “but we’re trying our best to prevent the spread of germs and viruses. Without water, I find myself using hand sanitizer at least twenty times a day.”
“I understand,” Mason said, making a mental note to do a better job of minimizing his own exposure.
The doctor was about to say something else when a loud commotion came from the waiting room.
“Oh, no,” Ava said, turning and hurrying back into the main room.
Mason and Dr. Darby quickly followed.
By the time Mason entered the waiting room, Ava was already standing face to face with a man who could have moonlighted as a World Wrestling Federation competitor. The barrel-chested goon had arms as big as Popeye’s archenemy, Bluto, and a tangle of curly, black chest hair poking up through the neck of his shirt to match. His forearms were awash in dark green tattoos, and his face sported a bushy black mustache.
Fran was lying on the floor behind her small entryway table, struggling to get up.
“Get out!” Ava commanded, pointing to the door.
Bluto reached forward to grab her, but stopped short when he saw Mason.
In the two seconds that it took Mason to take everything in, three other men strode through the front door. Two had handguns in their waistbands, and the third carried a large stainless steel revolver hanging at his side like a fistful of bad news.
For a moment, no one moved. Everyone just stared, looking from one face to the next. Sensing things were about to go from bad to worse, Ava began backing away from Bluto. The patients in the room instinctively moved closer to the walls in an attempt to blend in with their surroundings.
Mason walked slowly to the center of the room, struggling to keep his heartbeat in check. Calm hearts lead to calm hands, he reminded himself.
Ava stepped back to stand beside him. Bowie peered in from outside the door. His ears were pinned back, and his tail was tucked. He was a sneeze away from ruining someone’s day.
“That brute attacked my nurse,” she said, as if needing to explain what had transpired.
Mason noticed Fran holding one arm close to her body. Her carefree smile had been replaced with anguish and worry. Bluto stood confidently in the center of the room, obviously enjoying the attention. His three henchmen watched Mason, not advancing a
ny closer but not retreating either. None of them seemed to notice the giant dog standing just a few feet behind them.
Mason turned to Bluto and parted his jacket to expose his pistol and badge. He placed his hand on the butt of his Supergrade.
“The doctor made it clear that you men are not welcome here.”
“We go where we want. We take what we want,” Bluto said in a deep voice befitting of his girth. “If she’s not nice, we may take more than just drugs.” He looked over his shoulder to make sure that his men were still there. They were.
The man holding the revolver smiled at Mason, showing off a single gold tooth.
Without ever taking his eyes off the men, Mason said, “Ava, I want you and Dr. Darby to remain very still.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because,” he said in the same even tone, “it looks as if I’m going to have to kill these men, and I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”
“You really think you’re fast enough to draw on me?” the man with the revolver said, cocking the hammer back but not yet raising his pistol.
“Are you kidding me? You’ll never get that hand cannon up in time.”
The man’s smile faded.
“I’ll make this simple, Marshal,” said Bluto. “Throw down your pistol, or we’ll kill everyone in this room.” When Mason didn’t move, he said, “I mean it. We’ll butcher them like pigs in a slaughterhouse.”
Several people in the emergency room started to cry and lower themselves to the floor.
“How much do you weigh?” asked Mason.
“What?”
“Two hundred and eighty pounds, give or take?”
The man puffed his chest out.
“I was two-eighty when I was twelve years old.”
“And you’re what? Six-foot-five?”
“Are you planning on making me a suit?” Bluto laughed, looking over his shoulder to his buddies for their approval.
“No,” Mason said, shaking his head. “I was just wondering how many men it was going to take to drag your giant carcass out of here.”
Before anyone could take another breath, he drew his Supergrade and fired a single shot through the bridge of Bluto’s nose. The man’s lights went out instantly, but his body teetered for a moment as it tried to sort out the sudden lack of electrical impulses.
Mason shifted his aim and put two bullets in the chest of the man holding the revolver.
Both of the other men went for their guns. The faster of the two fumbled the draw, and the pistol fell heavily to the floor. He reached down to pick it up, but before he got it in hand, Bowie was on him. The dog knocked the man to the floor and began ripping into him with its mighty fangs.
The fourth man got his pistol in hand, but when he brought it up to fire, he became disoriented. Mason had dropped to one knee, and by the time the man processed the change in his target, a bullet punched through his mouth and took off the top of his head.
Everything fell silent except for the terrible screams of a man being mauled by a one-hundred-and-forty-pound animal with a head the size of a cannonball.
Mason and Ava sat outside on a stone bench in the hospital’s garden. Soft rays of candlelight from the emergency room spilled out to provide just enough illumination for them to see one another. The night was filled with the sounds of insects and Bowie’s incessant licking as he worked to clean his paws.
“That was horrible,” she said, her voice shaking almost as much as her hands.
“I’m sorry.”
“As a doctor, I’ve seen things that would repulse any normal person. But I’ve never been so close to that kind of violence.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, not sure of what else to say.
“The gunfire, the screaming … and your dog.” She shook her head, trying to clear the images of the past few minutes.
Bowie looked up as if he understood that he was the topic of conversation. When Ava didn’t reach down to pet him, he went back to chewing on his paws.
“I was terribly afraid. I suppose that makes me a coward.”
“I was afraid, too. Does that make me a coward?”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine anyone being more confident.”
Mason said nothing as he looked out into the night. He was thankful that she couldn’t see the relentless procession of “what ifs” that were marching across the parade ground of his mind.
“How did you get so good with a gun?”
“I train,” he said, simply.
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible for one person to defeat four.”
“You’re forgetting about Bowie,” he said, leaning down and patting the dog. Bowie started to rise for more attention, but Mason motioned for him to lie back down.
“Even without your dog, those men never stood a chance.”
Mason shrugged. “Most people don’t realize that reaction is slower than action.”
She looked confused.
“It just means that the person who moves first generally wins.”
“So, you move first.”
“I try to.”
She reached over and laid her hand on his.
“I admire your humility. Most men would be stomping around boasting about their victory.” She sat quietly for a moment, never removing her hand from his.
“Is Fran going to be okay? Nothing broken I hope.”
“She’ll be fine. I think it bruised her spirit as much as her arm. She certainly fared better than her attacker.”
“When a man the size of a boxcar starts bullying an old woman, he deserves everything he gets.”
“Have you ever killed anyone before?”
“Yes.”
“Many times?”
He thought of the bodies decomposing at the bottom of the ravine near his cabin.
“Yes,” he repeated.
“Do you mind if I ask how it makes you feel when you take a life? I’ve heard soldiers say it gives them a feeling of power, even elation, at having overcome their enemy.”
Mason shook his head, slowly.
“I take no pleasure in killing.” He paused, collecting his words. “But I don’t feel much remorse either. To be in front of my gun means a person has made choices that can’t be undone, or even forgiven. It becomes a moment of reckoning, a moment of justice.”
She squeezed his hand, apparently satisfied with his answer.
“You’re a good man, Mason Raines, a strong man.”
He looked over and saw that she was crying.
“Ava, what’s wrong?”
She smiled and wiped the tears away.
“I’m sorry. I’m behaving like a little girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at me, holding your hand, searching for some sign of strength and security in a world filled only with death and suffering.” She pulled her hand away and sat up straight. “I’m sorry. You don’t need this baggage.”
He reached over and put his arm around her.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. We’re all trying to find hope. Despite the death, there is also life, purpose, and maybe even love.”
She looked up at him, the tears still trickling down her cheeks.
“You really think so?”
“I do.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am.”
Ava leaned over and laid her head against his chest.
Mason pulled her close, smelling the soft hint of her perfume as it mixed with the freshly burnt gunpowder still swirling through the air.
Chapter 17