“Monkey Pete, me and Chee are going out to have a look-see around the town. See if there’s a marshal or anyone can give us any information. You stay here. Don’t let anyone on the train unless it’s us.”
Monkey Pete climbed up in the chair Chee had vacated behind the Gatling. He pushed the lever next to the seat forward and the roof hatch hissed open. The chair shot up and out the opening, giving him a commanding view and field of fire.
“No worries, Major. I’ll be sure to keep a sharp eye,” he said.
“If we run into trouble, we’ll fire off two shots from a Henry. You hear ’em, you lock this train up tight and don’t let nobody in.”
“Don’t worry Major,” the engineer said. “I know how to keep trouble off my train. What do you want me to do if you don’t come back?”
The question caught Hollister a little off guard. He hadn’t considered it. This felt more like a reconnaissance mission than an impending conflict. Still, he supposed there could be trouble ahead. It would be good to have a plan in place.
“If we can’t make it back to the train, you stay locked down. Send a wire to Pinkerton and have him send the army. And I mean the whole army. If those things are here, we’re going to need artillery, cavalry, the whole shebang,” Hollister said.
“Chee, I’d like Dog to stay with Monkey Pete. We don’t know what we’re up against. I figure Dog could discourage just about anyone from taking an unauthorized tour of the train.”
Dog had been lying on the floor half asleep, but he sat up and stared at Hollister at the mention of his name. Chee instructed Dog to stay with Monkey Pete. Hollister couldn’t be sure, but he thought Dog looked disappointed at the prospect of missing the chance to eat someone. “He’ll stay here, Major, and I’ve told him to pay attention to Monkey Pete.” Hollister looked at the engineer and shrugged.
“I have no doubt,” Hollister said. “Chee, let’s go.”
Hollister had decided to leave the Ass-Kicker on the train. It seemed too dangerous to carry it, walking into a town full of innocent civilians. Instead, he just carried one of the Henrys, as did Chee, both of them looping two belts of ammo under their dusters. One of the things Winchester had done to their Colts and rifles was to modify them so they were all the same caliber. They could use the same bullets to load either gun, but he hoped he wouldn’t miss the Ass-Kicker.
There was no station, just a wooden platform next to the track that allowed them to step down off the train. In the center of the platform, a set of stairs led down to the dirt. Off in the distance the main street of the town stood rimmed by a half dozen two-story structures with one other street crossing it, and that was it. The whole town.
A clicking sound came from behind them and they turned to see Monkey Pete still in the Gatling seat. He was working another series of levers. With a hiss of steam, steel panels appeared out of the sides of the train, covering the doors and windows. “I’ll be damned,” Hollister muttered. He looked at Chee in amazement, but the young man just shrugged.
“Where to, sir?” Chee asked.
“I’m not sure. Ain’t it kind of odd no one comes to meet the train? Monkey Pete said the Central and Pacific train comes once a week. I assume this isn’t the day the regular train comes, so wouldn’t people be curious?” Hollister asked.
Chee shrugged. Hollister noticed the young man’s face had turned to stone. He was studying the town and the surrounding terrain like he expected trouble.
It took them less than two minutes to reach the outlying buildings. They marched into the center of the town. A signpost named the street they stood on as First Street, while the cross street was Second Street.
“Creative,” Hollister muttered gesturing at the sign.
There was a hotel on one corner; a hardware store, bank, and assayers office occupied the others. Hollister counted three saloons, a laundry, general store, restaurant, and another building with a sign over the door that just said O FFICE, with no indication of what kind of office might be inside. This comprised the entire business district of Absolution.
Beyond the two-story buildings lining the two streets were a few small houses and what could only be described as huts. There was no one on the streets. With dusk approaching, there were no lights, they could smell no cook fires or wood smoke, there were no horses tied to hitching posts anywhere they could see.
“Where the hell is everyone?” Hollister asked out loud. “It’s going to be dark soon. We need to get back to the train. Wait till daylight.”
Chee’s eyes went everywhere. To the corners, roofs, and every nook and cranny. He saw nothing and no one. Then a noise came from down the street.
Hollister cocked the Henry and carried it at port arms. Chee did the same.
“Saloon,” Hollister said.
They separated, Hollister stepping up on the wooden sidewalk, Chee remaining in the street. The saloon was named the Rambling Rose. The swinging doors moved slightly in the breeze. Hollister waited as Chee backed his way up onto the sidewalk, taking a position on the other side of the doors. They quickly cut through the doors, rifles at the ready.
The saloon was empty.
But it looked like the last customers had left in a hurry. On the bar sat a few mugs of half-drunk beer. A bottle of whiskey stood at one end, an empty glass tipped on its side next to it. There was an abandoned piano along one wall and two of the nearby tables still had cards and chips and partially full glasses and ashtrays. To the left of the doorway a set of stairs led to the second level.
Chee advanced slowly on the bar. Holding the Henry in his left hand, he drew his Colt. Hollister stood ready. Instinctively, he felt no one was here, but something was also very wrong in Absolution.
Chapter Thirty-four
As he stepped toward the bar, the major with his rifle up and ready standing at the wall to his right, Chee felt each step was bringing them closer to their ends. The woman, Shaniah, was coming soon. He was sure of it. Since they had left Torson City, every time he looked over his shoulder, he expected her to be there. Chee knew that the Deathwalkers could be killed. But the woman would endanger them somehow. He could not explain the feeling and had quit trying. It was just something that was given.
He raised the Colt, his arm straight and the gun cocked and ready. There was a large mirror over the bar and he kept his eyes locked on it, watching behind them. Moving left toward the stairway, he approached the open end of the bar and swung around, bringing the gun down toward the floor, ready for anyone who might be hiding behind it.
The man had been dead awhile. He wore a white apron with black pants. The front of the apron and his white shirt, was covered in blood. His neck had been torn apart and his face was covered in flies. A small sawed-off shotgun lay on the floor beside the man; four empty shells showed he’d gone down fighting. But not well enough.
“I’ve got a body here, Major,” he said. “He’s been dead a couple of days at least. Shotgun, it’s been fired.” Chee set his Henry on the bar and picked up the sawed-off. He racked it open. It was loaded with two unfired rounds. He slid it into his belt with a feeling he’d be firing it before too long.
Hollister came around the bar at the other end and stooped to examine the body. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled. “All right, let’s check the rest-”
Hollister was interrupted by a loud thump coming from the room above them.
“Did you hear that?” Chee asked.
“Yeah,” Hollister said, standing and looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t like this. We get halfway up the stairs and something comes out of one of those rooms, we’re fucked,” Hollister said. “I don’t want to go up there without more firepower. Let’s go back to the train and get the Ass-Kicker and Dog. He can give us a better idea what’s up there. We know what we’re dealing with now and we’re going to need the-”
From outside a loud scream sounded. It lasted several seconds before fading away. Hollister couldn’t be sure,
