Gunsmoke Blues Page 3

  He could see nothing through the rear or side windows, but that was not his biggest concern. As long as the wheels gripped the ground and he could see the way ahead, he had a chance. He revved the engine, feeling emboldened by its throaty roar.

  Then another sound assaulted his ears. A third rat, as distinct from the first two as one human voice from another. It screeched as loudly as the other two combined; an eerie wail that carried through the crisp cold air of the clearing, even over the roar of the steam engine.

  Mary. She had begun to hunt.

  Saying a silent prayer, Dr. Williams let out the clutch and felt the steam car crawl slowly downhill, the wheels bumping as they bit into the powdered snow.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mary leapt down the cabin steps in a single bound, landing in the snow. Her breath hung heavy in the air before her but she did not feel the cold. Her fur kept her warm and snug.

  She padded forward, slowly at first, enjoying the feel of four-legged movement. How could she ever have walked on hind legs alone? She sped up, travelling with ease, loping forward through the snow, away from the cabin, toward the distant hulk of the Stanley Steamer and its dim lantern lights. It moved slowly, but she was fast.

  What speed I possess, she thought. What power; what grace.

  She felt strength running through her limbs, an untapped strength, whose full potential she had not yet tasted. Her senses were heightened like never before. She could see clearly by moonlight as if it was as bright as day. Her ears twitched to pick up the smallest sound. She had never guessed that such a rich symphony filled the silent night. But her sense of smell guided her most, giving her a vivid three-dimensional map of her surroundings. She smelled the dirty Stanley Steamer and its nasty exhaust fumes. She smelled the distinct scents of the two other rats, Virginia and Mose. And over the top of everything else, like a sweet, high note, she smelled man. She smelled her prey.

  Mary’s limbs flowed with the pure and simple joy of the hunt. She joined the other rats, and the three of them fanned out in a natural hunting formation, guided by instinct. She screeched again as she ran, feeling high with the thrill of the chase. Dr. Williams had been drunk, but Mary was intoxicated with the lust for blood. She had never felt anything like it. She ran faster, moving ahead of the others, the three of them sprinting forward toward the lumbering vehicle.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Stanley Steamer belched black smoke into the sky as it crept forward inch-by-inch. The road was thick with snow, its edges and the deep ditches to either side invisible beneath the driven white blanket that covered it. He felt the front wheel dip as it strayed from the path, and he turned the steering sharply to keep the vehicle from plunging off the road.

  Dr. Williams urged the steam car onward, moving slowly but surely closer to the campus gates.

  He could see very little in his forward view, and nothing of what lay behind. He could hear nothing either, save for the brutish roar of the engine as he shifted his foot almost continuously from accelerator to brake and back again. His left foot lingered permanently over the clutch pedal. He’d not yet shifted out of first gear. Eight miles at least to go, averaging five to ten miles per hour. Part of his mind began to calculate his journey time but he shut it off before it could complete its estimate.

  “Keep your focus, Daniel,” he told himself. “Stay on task.”

  He was glad he could see nothing of the road behind. Dread followed him, his mind’s eye conjuring clearly-imagined monsters. He didn’t need to see them for real.

  The Stanley Steamer lurched suddenly as a great weight crashed into its side with a bang. He grappled with the steering wheel to keep the vehicle on the road. One wheel shot into space and spun wildly, but he pulled the car back from the brink just in time. He pushed his right foot hard to the floor.

  The car dashed ahead, picking up speed. He changed up a gear for the first time. The Stanley Steamer struck a log and he felt the steel chassis scream in protest. The sudden jolt dashed his head against the roof of the vehicle, but he kept his foot to the floor, seeking to escape his hunters. They were on him now, trying to force him off the road.

  Another gargantuan rat slammed against the Stanley Steamer. Again, he struggled to keep it on the road. The car tipped onto two wheels as a third beast crashed against the passenger door. Dr. Williams gripped the steering wheel with all his might, but he was losing control. The vehicle tipped further, teetering on two wheels. Instinctively he threw his hands over his face as the car crashed onto its side.

  The car careened into the trees, hitting a dark trunk. It came to an abrupt stop and the screen of glass before him caved in, showering him in frozen raindrops that cut his skin. The engine barked, vomiting smoke, as the wheels spun uselessly on their side.

  Dr. Williams tried to move, but his leg was trapped. His hand dripped red with blood. He lay against the buckled metal of the door, eyes wide in terror.

  He heard a grating noise and a scratching, followed by the crash of more glass breaking. Before him was the yellow glare of a giant rat looking back, its nose sniffing hungrily, its sharp incisors bared. Rat breath steamed into his face.

  Dr. Williams tried to smile, although he feared it was more a grimace. “I’m sorry,” he said to the rat. “Please, forgive me.”

  The rat moved closer, hissing angrily at the doctor’s words.

  “I forgive you,” Dr. Williams continued. “This was my entire fault.”

  He screamed as the rat’s jaws snapped at his face, rending and tearing.

  His vision turned red and he screamed again as teeth sunk deep into his skull. His second scream did not last long.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mary Church Terrell hated Dr. Williams for his final words of conciliation. She didn’t want his forgiveness or his pity. She screeched with rage and clamped her jaws around the crest of his head, enjoying the iron-rich taste of blood and salty-sweet taste of brain as it slithered into her mouth and down her throat. She shook her head sharply, shearing off the top of Dr. Williams’ skull with her teeth. His head lolled backward and his ruined brain lurched forward, rolling out of his head and flopping wetly onto the backseat.

  She gripped his shoulders with her powerful jaws, ripping him from the vehicle. He was heavier than her, but she was strong. She dragged his lifeless form from the Stanley Steamer and let his limp body collapse onto the snowy ground next to the overturned vehicle. Steaming blood spilled across the frozen whiteness.

  The others approached to feed, but Mary snapped her jaws at them in warning. This was her kill. She stood over her prey, panting breathlessly, daring them to take it from her.

  Mose came closer, stepping cautiously through the snow, but she sprang at him, snapping wildly, nipping his flesh and drawing blood. He leapt back sharply, screeching in pain. She ran to him and made him cower in submission. Virginia too cowered down before her, acknowledging her as leader of the mischief. They were both larger, stronger; but while Mary lacked their size and strength, she made up for it with ferocity and cunning.

  She paced around them slowly until satisfied of their acquiescence. Then she returned to her prey, crouching down on all fours to enjoy her spoils. She tore at the flesh greedily, ripping and gnawing it with her long incisors, enjoying the sensation of blood dripping from her long tongue. Not many students got to eat their teacher, not even in medical school. Human flesh tasted even better than she had imagined, and she had been imagining little else for many days. She devoured the meat hungrily, chewing right down to the sweet marrow of the bone. When she had taken her fill, she moved aside to let the others have the remains.

  The rats were ravenous and they wasted nothing. Soon all that remained of Dr. Williams were hair, bones and memories.

  As her companions feasted, Mary paced, thinking through her next steps. The moon had swung far across the sky now, and dawn could not be far away. The change would come again then, this time in reverse, and they would need to be back inside the warmth of the cab
in to survive in human form.

  In the days to come they would have their work cut out, disposing of what remained of the corpse and any other evidence. Then they could resume their studies in the laboratory. They would stay here for the remaining winter months, completing their work and making plans. The melting snows of spring would help wash away the last remains of the Doctor.

  When that was done, they would leave Chicago for New Orleans. From there, the whole world would be theirs for the taking.

  But before that, another hour remained to enjoy the thrill of being a rat. When Mose and Virginia had finished eating, Mary dashed away into the forest, leaping breathlessly around the columns of trees, her paws pounding lightly across the powdery snow. The others followed in her wake.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  North Rampart Street, the Tremé, New Orleans; Halloween, ten months later.

  It was impossible for Robert Charles to tell how old the man was. He gathered the little children close around him, well away from the man, and counted them again to make sure they were all still present—Beulah, Sweetpea, Belshazzar and Elijah. Four children, check.

  He wished he had never brought the children out that night in an attempt to impress their mother—”Fine ass Afrodil,” he and every other man in the Tremé called her—and even more so, he wished the man had never opened the door to his home. He looked like a vagrant, his clothes creased and stained and a size too big. His black hair, curly, like sheep’s wool, stood high on his head, unwashed and overgrown. He had clearly not shaved in a week. And he looked sick too—his skin unnaturally pale, his eyes reddened with a yellow sheen to them. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he stooped forward, his back hunched as if in pain.

  The man sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling like an animal. “What do you want?” he barked unpleasantly.

  “Trick or treat!” chorused the children. They all wore costumes in celebration of Halloween—the new holiday that had come with the Irish but recently latched onto by Black people from coast-to-coast due to its similarity to African masquerades—Beulah, a witch; Sweetpea, a fairy; Belshazzar, a skeleton; and Elijah, as Tommy Rawhead, the Boogeyman. Robert had stuck with black trousers and a sweater.

  He ordered the little children to shut up. Couldn’t they see what he saw? This was not a man to play trick or treat with. This was a man to keep at a distance.

  “Trick or what?” the man asked suspiciously.

  “It’s Halloween!” shouted little Beulah excitedly. “Trick or treat!”

  The man seemed to understand then. His thin mouth drew slowly into a smile, then a toothy grin. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Halloween. I forgot. We call it Hallowmas where I’m from. Que je suis bête. Entrez.” He stood aside for the children to enter into his grimy home.

  “No!” Robert put out a hand to restrain the children, but Beulah and Sweetpea had already darted inside.

  The man leered at Robert, revealing a row of stained and crooked teeth. “You’d better all come in.”

  It was a ground-floor apartment in a converted Victorian house. Robert followed the children reluctantly into the narrow hallway. The children had already run through it into the kitchen at the end. Other doors led off the hallway, but they were closed.

  “That’s right,” called the man from over his shoulder. “You go straight through to the kitchen. I’m right behind you.” He shut the front door of the house, sliding a security chain into place.

  Robert could smell him now. He reeked of sweat and urine and God knows what. This was such a bad idea, but how could he get the children out? Better just to endure it then leave as quickly as possible.

  The kitchen was a pigsty. Mounds of unwashed plates and dishes filled the sink and covered the worktops all around. Partly-eaten meals putrefied in them, days or even weeks old, crawling with flies and maggots. Robert put his hand to his mouth to block the smell. Even the little children looked apprehensive now.

  The man pushed Robert roughly into the small kitchen and followed him inside, closing the door behind him. There was barely enough room for them all to fit.

  “It smells in here!” Beulah said.

  “Now, now,” the man said. “That’s no way to talk when someone has invited you into their home, is it, little lady?”

  The little girl shook her head.

  “Now what’s this trick or treat you were telling me about? It sounds like fun.” The man winked at Robert.

  Robert looked around the kitchen. It was cramped, with a small window above the wash basin, some countertops with storage units above and below, an old wood-burning stove, and a Coolgardie safe, which Robert figured the old man left outside when he had meat or milk to keep it cool. He moved his gaze along the kitchen countertop, scattered with food debris and other clutter. A column of ants busied themselves in removing some of the smaller crumbs. His attention fixed on a knife. The knife was about a foot long with a wooden handle and a serrated edge for cutting bread. Robert moved closer to it, leaning back against the soiled worktop. He could have the knife in his hands in a second if he needed it.

  Sweetpea was telling the man all about trick or treat.

  “Is that right?” the man asked. “So either I give you a treat or you play a trick on me?” He looked gravely at each of the children in turn, tugging at his wispy beard with thin fingers. “What kind of trick?” he demanded.

  The children bunched together, shaking their heads, silent.

  “Stop it!” Robert said. “You’re frightening them. Come on y’all, let’s get out of here.”

  The man leaned back against the closed door. “Hey, no need to run. I was just fooling around. Pardon if I scared you. Let me give you a real treat to make up for it. Comment ça sonne?”

  The children nodded, still silent, not taking their eyes from the man.

  He chuckled. “Let me see what I’ve got for you. I’m sure there must be something nice in one of my cupboards. You know, I haven’t been very well for a couple of weeks. I haven’t eaten a thing in days, so I’m sure there must be plenty of food left over. You won’t mind if tastes a little stale, will you?”

  The children looked uncertain. They still said nothing. Not even six-year-old Beulah, who normally never stopped talking.

  Robert reached for the handle of the knife behind his back, hoping the man wouldn’t notice. He tried to look casual. His fingers found a plate of something soft and disgusting, and withdrew by reflex. He reached again tentatively, exploring the discarded plates and dishes on the work surface behind him. His fingers found a cup and saucer, and then a spoon, sticky with some nameless ooze. A little further and he found it. His fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of the knife.

  The man seemed oblivious to Robert’s movements. He was looking in the cupboards now, making a big show of it. “Nothing in this one,” he announced. “Je suis si bête. Oh, what’s in here? Half a bag of beignets. Does anyone like beignets? What about mints? You like mints?” He rummaged in some low-level units near the wash basin. “I’ve got some pralines here somewhere.”

  While the man searched for leftover food, Robert quietly moved over to the kitchen door, clutching the knife in his hand behind his back. His hands felt sweaty despite the cold air in the kitchen. He tried turning the handle of the door. It squeaked as he turned it, but the door swung open into the hallway that led back to the front door. “Come on children,” he whispered. They started to leave the kitchen one at a time.

  The man turned around and frowned at Robert. His eyes glowed fiercely yellow under the dim light of the single lantern that hung from a hook in the ceiling. “You can’t go yet,” the man said. “You haven’t had your treat.” He stood up.

  He seemed taller than before, and somehow more fit. He was standing straight, no longer hunched, a good few inches taller than Robert.

  “We’re good,” Robert said. “Thanks anyway.” The two girls were in the hallway. Robert pushed Belshazzar after them.

  The man took a step forward. “If you do
n’t want a treat, I have to play a trick on you,” he shouted. “That’s the rule.” He reached out suddenly and grabbed Elijah by the shoulders. The boy cried out in fright.

  Robert brought the bread knife out into full view and held it between himself and the man. He clutched it so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had no idea what he might do with it, but it seemed like the first sensible idea he’d had all evening.

  For a moment the man didn’t react. Then he started to laugh. He held Elijah closer to him, digging into the boy’s shoulders with his long fingernails. The little boy’s mask slipped from his face, revealing two eyes wide with terror.

  The man’s laughter dissolved into a fit of coughing. When he spoke again, his voice was filled with menace. “Thinking to poke me with that, are you, boy?” he demanded, nodding toward the bread knife. “Think you can stick that in me?”

  Robert gripped the knife as hard as he could, but the tighter he held it, the more the knife shook. “Beulah, Sweetpea, Belshazzar, go get help,” he called. He dared not turn around to see where they were. “Run!” he shouted.

  He was relieved to hear the sound of the children running away down the hallway toward the front door of the house.

  “Three gone, and only two left,” the man said. “And I’m so hungry.” He licked his red lips with the tip of his tongue.

  Robert’s arms shook violently, as if the knife was a huge weight. The trembling started to spread to his knees, but he stood his ground in the kitchen. “Let the boy go,” he said. I should have taken my training with Mama Harriet more serious, he thought.

  The man shook his head, making his afro dance wildly. “Didn’t you hear me?” he demanded. “I told you I haven’t eaten for a week. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.” His tongue darted from between white teeth. “But it’s not horsemeat I want.”

  There was a noise from the end of the hallway. The children were pounding against the front door, the door that led to freedom. Beulah called out, “Mister Robert, we can’t open the door, it’s locked!”