Guns of Seneca 6 gos6-1 Page 5

  McParlan scanned the ship’s registration plate and said, “This ship is registered to Franklin Carlisle. Are you him?”

  “Maybe, but this isn’t my stuff. I just found it.”

  McParlan pushed Carlisle back inside the ship. “I don’t have time for games, boy. I’m commandeering this vessel, and we need to leave immediately.”

  * * *

  McParlan’s cybernetic eye clicked and whirred uncontrollably, unable to focus on anything until he tightened the casing into his skull. He waited for the red lens to stabilize. The image was fuzzy and crackled with interference from the onboard computers.

  The ship jerked to one side, and McParlan crashed into the opposite wall of the narrow corridor. “Goddamn it, Carlisle. Can you fly this bucket of junk or not?”

  Franklin Carlisle looked back at him from the cockpit and said, “I thought someone was on us.”

  “There hasn’t been anyone on the radar for half a parsec, you idiot. That gas you’ve been sniffing is making you paranoid. That’s why it’s illegal,” McParlan shouted. He reached the storage compartment’s door and opened it. Elijah Harpe was chained to a pylon with his hands behind his back. “You got any food, Marshal?”

  “We should be back at Headquarters by morning as long as we can keep up this speed. Guess you should’ve eaten before you did all that praying, huh?”

  Harpe’s face twisted like a balled-up fist, “I wasn’t supposed to be alive at all, heathen. My Lord is calling me to him. Ain’t nothing left for me here.”

  “I beg to differ,” McParlan said. “There’s a date with the death chamber for you.”

  Harpe shrugged. “We’ll see what Little Willy has to say about that. Chances are, he’s gonna put a spike in your wheel before you get me anywhere close to that compound.” Harpe leaned forward, “When he gets here, we’re gonna have us a real good time, Marshal. Believe that.”

  The ship shook again, and McParlan placed his hand against the wall to brace himself. “Well, I love a good time, Elijah. Let me ask you a question, why did you boys attack that medical supply ship?”

  “We were gonna give some much-needed relief to the poor and unfortunate, Marshal. The folks your kind don’t give a squirt about.”

  “That’s real, real noble, Elijah. But I don’t believe a lick of it. We both know there’s no medical supply ships with the kind of firepower that they turned on you when you took that girl. What was really on board?”

  Harpe just smiled and shook his head. “You think that little boy you got flying this heap will hold up, Marshal? You already killed one youth today. How many more got to die?”

  “You killed that boy,” McParlan said. “Not me.”

  Harpe shrugged, “Don’t matter. Hey, you got a wife? How about daughters? Some real pretty ones, I bet.”

  “Nope,” McParlan replied. “It’s just me and you, Elijah.”

  Harpe smiled. “We gonna see about that. Me and my brother, we got all sorts of friends in all sort of places, Marshal. They can tell us just about anything about anyone. We’re gonna find her. And when I do, phew, it’s gonna be slow and sexy. Tell you what. You drop me off at the nearest base and we’ll forget all about this.”

  McParlan opened his mouth to respond but his voice was drowned out by roaring engines and grinding mechanical parts. The ship dropped suddenly and McParlan slammed the door shut on Harpe. He turned toward the cockpit and shouted, “Are we hit?”

  Carlisle was standing up, yanking on the steering column as far as it would go. “I told you this ship wasn’t equipped to maintain high speeds. The computers are fried and I can’t get it to recalibrate manually!”

  McParlan hurried down the hall and strapped himself into the co-pilot’s chair. He grabbed the emergency controls and punched keys on the grid but the board was dark. The engines started screeching. “Where’s the backup system?”

  “I don’t have a backup system, Marshal! I told you I couldn’t do this. I begged you to find somebody else, but no, you just had to have this ship.”

  “Just point this bucket of shit at the nearest solid object and throw us toward it!”

  The ship lurched sideways and began to spiral.

  6. Hellbillies

  “Where’s my brother?”

  Hank Raddiger backed away from the small black box sitting at Little Willy Harpe’s feet. The box rattled, and Hank swallowed hard. “He took off with that lady who was piloting the Medical Transport. The one with the real pretty hair.”

  Little Willy smirked . “Damn, Elijah. Always was a ladies’ man. How about you, Hank? You a ladies’ man?”

  “Naw,” Hank snorted.

  Little Willy looked down at the box and ran his hand over its smooth lid affectionately. “You will be. They’ll come running to you like dogs to the heel of their master, if that’s what you want.”

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  Willy grinned. “The pleasures of the spirit dwarf the pleasures of the flesh, my friend. Do you know what’s in this box?”

  Hank shook his head no, and Little Willy tapped his fingers on its shining surface. “Guess.”

  “I know it ain’t medical supplies,” Hank said. He picked at the dried blood stuck under his fingernails. “I know them soldiers hidden in that ship was armed to the teeth, and they fought like the dickens to protect it.”

  “That they did,” Willy smiled. He licked the file-sharpened tips of his teeth, playing with strings of meat that dangled from them. There was a small finger bone on the ground within his reach. He picked it up and stuck its tip into his mouth, digging out the loose strands. “You get enough to eat?”

  “I sure did,” Hank said. He rubbed his stomach and said, “Stuffed.”

  Willy shook his head. “I been watching you, Hank. You still don’t fully indulge in the spoils of war.”

  Hank dropped his gaze to the ground. “A few were still squirming when you started biting into them. I cooked up a little of what I found lying around, like you said. You told me I could start off slow.”

  “Yes, I recall,” Willy said. He tossed the finger bone into a pile of scattered ribs, femurs, and pelvises. All of them had been stripped of meat and thoroughly cleaned. Willy got down on his hands and knees and pressed the side of his face against the box. He smiled as he rubbed himself on it like a cat. He whispered and cooed and pressed his lips against the lid, leaving it smeared.

  “Well, we gonna open it, or should I keep guessing?”

  “Not yet,” Willy whispered. He got to his feet and tucked the box under his arm. “I reckon I’m still hungry.”

  They stepped out of the ship onto the moon’s surface, avoiding the bodies of soldiers and members of their own gang littering the ground. Only an hour earlier, all of those men had been engaged in fierce combat. Only Little Willy Harpe and Hank Raddiger remained. Willy scratched himself and looked around at the scattered bodies, peering through the swirls of black soot and smoke. “What a godawful mess. See any that’s moving?”

  “Nope.”

  “Anybody hear me?” Willy called out. “Fighting’s all over. Got what we came for. Friend or foe, I can get you some assistance.”

  Most of the soldiers were obviously dead, with large black holes blown through them by the Harpe’s ship’s heavy artillery cannons. Willy looked among his own men for survivors. “Grat? Emmet? Any of you still amongst the living?”

  Willy grinned when he saw a hand rise in the distance followed by a low moan. “There’s one,” he said, slapping Hank on the stomach. “Hope you got some room left. Dinner is served.”

  * * *

  That evening, Hank was told to build a fire and haul whatever was left of the bodies into it. He stripped off their clothes and kept any valuables. He exchanged his boots for a pair worn by one of the younger officers. They were military-issued and looked brand new. Hank pocketed necklaces and wedding rings, and whooped with joy when he found one carved from ten-percent severian.

  “Those trinkets won’t amount to m
uch compared to what’s in this box, Hank,” Willy said. He leaned back against their ship with the box resting on his chest.

  Hank wiped his brow. “Way I see it, all the Dalton’s got out of this is being dead. Your brother skated off with a hump for the night. All I’m left with is whatever I can scrounge up from these folks. You got yourself that box, and you seem mighty pleased with it, so whatever it is, I hope this all was worth it.”

  “Actually, I think you’re right. It’s time we opened the box.” Willy stood up and stripped off his shirt and pants, standing naked in the light of the fire. His torso was criss-crossed with scars and burns. He lifted the lid and gas hissed out, evaporating in the cool air of the moon and stirring the thing inside. The box began to rattle violently.

  Hank could not see inside the opened lid, but he saw Willy’s eyes widen as he reached down. Something black slithered up Willy’s arm and cinched around it, yanking him closer to the box. Willy grunted, trying to pull away but could not escape the black tentacle. More black appendages reached up and coiled around Willy’s chest and face.

  A thing emerged from the box with a pulsating membrane at its center. It was a black gelatinous starfish with tentacles like an octopus that left sucker marks on Little Willy’s skin as he struggled to pull them off of him. He screamed for help and dropped to his knees. “Get it off of me, Hank! Help me!”

  Hank scrambled for one of the weapons lying on the ground. He found a rifle that looked functional and as he lifted it to fire, he saw Little Willy collapse on the ground. The creature burrowed into Willy’s left armpit like it was trying to dig a hole. Its tentacles were stuck to Willy’s jaw and torso.

  Hank pushed the barrel of the rifle against the membrane. He could see through its thin grey flesh. Underneath the thing’s body were dozens of spooling veins that aimed toward Willy’s heart. They grew dark every time they slurped on Willy’s blood. Hank tried to pry the creature away with the gun barrel, but could not budge it. “I’m sorry, friend,” Hank said. He switched the weapon on and the loud battery pack’s hum made Willy’s eyes open.

  “What are you doing?” Willy said. He sat up and pushed the rifle away.

  “You told me to get rid of it,” Hank said, taking a step back.

  Little Willy caressed the tentacle stretched across his chest. “Put that thing down before you hurt yourself.”

  “You feeling all right?” Hank said.

  “Of course.” He put one large hand on Hank’s shoulder, “But now I need to ask you a question of my own.”

  Hank squirmed at being so close to the creature. “What’s that?”

  Willy closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Are you ready?”

  “For what?”

  “To fly!”

  Hank stared at him for a moment. “Like, with a ship, you mean?”

  “No, you damn fool.” Willy closed his eyes again and took another breath. The creature’s head swelled beneath his arm. “There it is,” Willy whispered. “I can feel you now. Listen to me, Hank. Can you see yourself flying around this moon, through the night air, swooping up and down like a bird? I want you to climb up onto that rock above us and see if you can fly.”

  Hank did not move, and Willy pointed at the rock fifty feet above them. “Yeah, right,” Hank said, when suddenly he felt the wind rushing at his face and was overcome with the sensation that he was falling. The ground rushed toward him but somehow he knew he could pull himself out of the fall and soar into the air just by sticking out his arms. Hank shook his head to clear the image from his mind. “Hell no, I can’t see myself flying. Crashing and killing myself is more like it.”

  Little Willy cursed and shoved Hank toward the ship. “Just get on board. We’re leaving for Antioch to meet up with Elijah.”

  Hank shrugged and gathered up their belongings. As he made his way toward the ship, he watched Willy kneel down by the fire and stroke the creature, whispering to it like a lover.

  7. The Widow

  Dr. Anna Willow had never been married, yet she dressed and acted like a dowager. In her youth, she never accepted suitors and if anyone suggested an eligible bachelor, Anna politely excused herself from the conversation. Her explanation was that with all her studies, there was no time for such silliness. Now, the only offers of companionship came from lecherous old men and the distant relatives of patients who were described as her “perfect match” despite being passed over by all the women on their own planet.

  At thirty-six, her looks were still enough to draw glances from men in the town, but she flicked them away like bugs. Anna’s black hair, now streaked with silver, was always pulled back in a severe knot. Not once had anyone seen her put so much as a ribbon in it. Her long dress was buttoned from her waist to high up along her neck and its dark fabric was smeared with dust from the mines. She walked along Pioneer Way into the town’s business district and male passersby greeted her with the tip of their hat.

  The sign on Anna’s office door was old and still read DR. ROYCE HALLADAY’S FAMILY PRACTICE. Anna told the curious that it was about keeping the traditions of their town alive. She looked away when they mentioned how much better the town had been back then, when Sam Clayton was alive.

  A framed photograph of the former sheriff hung in Anna’s waiting room. It was the only public memorial of him within Seneca 6.

  When Clayton had not returned from his journey to Beothuk country, Walt Junger formed a search party to go find him. Walt’s older brother Tilt’s mutilated body was found next to Katey Halladay’s and his heroism in trying to save her was the stuff of legend. What the savages did to him was not discussed by anyone but Anna heard her father say there was not enough left to reconstruct. They threw Tilt’s remains into a sack and put the sack inside a coffin. Billy Jack Elliot, who expressed great regret at his behavior toward Sam, and said he desperately wanted to make amends, joined Walt’s search party. And so did Anna’s father, Erazamus Willow.

  The search party returned four days after setting out. The townsfolk gathered in the street to hear the news. Jem Clayton stood on the steps of his father’s office and watched the men enter from the security gate with lowered heads.

  “Well, we found him,” Walt Junger said. “He’s dead.”

  There were gasps in the crowd and everyone turned to look at Jem, who remained motionless. Anna put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “Where’s the body?” she said. “Why didn’t you bring it back?”

  “It’s at the bottom of a ravine,” Billy Jack Elliot said. “There’s no way to get to it. Them savages massacred him and the animals had at him after that.”

  Men in the crowd started to call out for revenge. Walt Junger told them to settle down, but Anna shouted over him, “Why didn’t you bring him back home? He deserves a decent burial.”

  “I told you!” Elliot shouted back. “It’s not possible.”

  “I want to see him, then,” she said.

  Elliot’s face turned bright red but then he let out a laugh. “Why am I answering to a little girl with a crush on a dead man here?”

  Walt Junger tapped Old Man Willow on the arm and said, “Tell her.”

  Old Man Willow looked at his daughter without speaking. Jem Clayton was staring at Willow with hard, unblinking eyes, and Walt Junger leaned close to Old Man Willow and whispered something. Willow’s eyes watered and he said, “It’s true, Anna. Everything they said. That’s the end of it.”

  “I think all of you are goddamn liars.” Anna grabbed Jem’s hand and tried to pull him from the steps, but he let go of her. He remained standing, staring at the searchers until they moved away from the crowd and went off to talk amongst themselves.

  Jem Clayton’s eyes became hollow after that day, and even as people took him and his sister in out of charity, the boy refused to settle into any new home. He left in the night and wandered into the wasteland where he built blazing fires from sagebrush and sat staring into the flames.

  The last time Anna saw Jem, he was returnin
g to the settlement at daybreak, half-naked, covered in dirt and ash, grinning like an idiot. He tipped his head as he passed her, “Good morning, Miss Anna.”

  “What has gotten into you this morning, Jem Clayton?”

  “Had a vision.”

  “Of what?” she said.

  “Of myself. I’m gonna be the baddest man that’s ever lived.”

  “Nobody as skinny as you can be a bad man,” Anna said, stifling a laugh. “Come to my house and I’ll put some food on for you. You look starved.”

  “Can’t,” he said as he continued walking. “No time.”

  He was headed toward his father’s house. Anna put her hands on her hips and said, “No time because of what? Where exactly do think you are running off to?”

  Jem stopped and looked back at her. His blue eyes blazed in the early morning sun and to Anna, he looked so much like his father that she had to look away. “You’ve been real good to us, Anna. Take care of Claire for me.”

  He turned and left even as Anna called out for him to wait. It was the last time anyone saw him.

  That was over twenty years ago.

  Anna pulled the framed photograph of Sam Clayton away from the wall and removed the small brass key from the base of the frame. She went to the closet at the end of her office and moved several boxes and laboratory coats out of her way to reveal a locked wooden box sitting on the floor.

  The box had not been touched since the day her father delivered it to her office and said, “Keep this, but promise me you won’t ever look inside of it.”

  “What is it?” she said.

  “It’s for Jem Clayton, if he ever decides to come back.”

  Anna set the box down. “And what if he doesn’t?”

  “He will.” Old Man Willow touched the framed picture of Sam Clayton reverently. By then, her father’s eyes were spoiled by cataracts that looked like saucers of milk inside his pupils and he had to squint to see his old friend’s face. “Just make sure that boy’s ready for it.”