expected. The undead outlaw’s skin had already begun to pale and his eyes to turn yellow. Juan thrust the bayonet up, catching the Tom-thing in the throat. It staggered back, gushing blood onto the ground and Juan. Then it stumbled forward, wrapped its hands around the doctor’s neck, and squeezed. Matt reached the edge of the campfire and waited just inside the tall, dry grass. Several of the hechicero ’s followers remained in the circle, hollow-eyed and still, under the influence of the priest’s ritual drugs. The wizard himself was crouched over the now-struggling colonel, swaying back and forth on his knees and singing. Matt trained the shotgun on the hechicero and tightened his finger on the trigger.
The boy , he thought. I should at least free the kid first, in case the wizard nails me . He covered the remaining, entranced followers with the gun and crawled into the circle.
* * * *
Juan struggled against the cuerpo’s grip, and the creature’s feet tangled up in his own. As he fell, he caught a glimpse of Matt, silhouetted against the blazing campfire.
No gun , he thought. The noise might make the hechicero turn around . Hijo de la chingada . The cuerpo bent its neck and snapped at Juan’s cheek, but the doctor rolled over, forcing the monster onto its back, and drove its head into the ground. He had to finish this quick, and quietly. The creature’s grip on his neck grew tighter, and spots danced before his eyes.
* * * *
The boy looked up as Matt crept up beside him. He opened his mouth, but the gunman slammed his hand over it.
“Henry, right?” Matt whispered. The boy nodded beneath the ropes binding him to the board. “I’m a friend of your father’s.” Matt looked around; the wizard was still chanting over the colonel, and the followers gave no indication they had noticed him. Matt set the shotgun down, pulled out a knife and cut the boy’s ropes.
“Now stay quiet, and start crawling,” he told the boy. “When you reach the tent where they were keeping you, find a place to hide and don’t come out until you hear my voice.” The boy looked back at his father. “Don’t worry about him,” Matt said. The boy’s eyes opened wide, and Matt followed his gaze.
The hechicero had stopped chanting, and had raised a knife above the colonel’s chest.
* * * *
Juan felt himself begin to black out, and forced himself to keep the Tom-thing’s head pinned to the ground. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for a sharp rock or weapon. His bayonet lay a foot away, where it had fallen from the creature’s neck. Juan braced himself against his attacker’s throat and leaned forward. It was just out of reach.
Chingada madre, he thought, and moved his hand further up, against the cuerpo’s face. A sharp pain blazed through the doctor’s hand as his other grasped the bayonet. He reared back and plunged the blade into the creature’s eye once, twice. The pressure around his neck relaxed and he sucked in a sharp, painful breath. He rolled over onto his side and examined his other hand. The undead outlaw had bitten his small finger off down to the second knuckle.
Juan swore again, drew his service revolver and placed the muzzle against the base of the finger.
* * * *
Damn , Matt thought as the boy rushed forward. He jumped on the hechicero ’s back as Henry scooped up the shotgun. The wizard roared, spun around and backhanded the boy. The kid flew backwards, out of the shotgun’s range, and Matt gave the priest both barrels. The hechicero slammed the knife down into the colonel’s chest with an unearthly scream as the blasts tore into his chest and stomach. Then he fell over and didn’t move.
The boy ran to his father and untied the ropes that bound him. The colonel’s breath came in rough, halting gasps. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Matt knelt beside them.
“Take care of my boy,” he said, grasping the collar of Matt’s shirt and struggling to pull him forward.
The boy , he thought. I should at least free the kid first, in case the wizard nails me . He covered the remaining, entranced followers with the gun and crawled into the circle.
* * * *
Juan struggled against the cuerpo’s grip, and the creature’s feet tangled up in his own. As he fell, he caught a glimpse of Matt, silhouetted against the blazing campfire.
No gun , he thought. The noise might make the hechicero turn around . Hijo de la chingada . The cuerpo bent its neck and snapped at Juan’s cheek, but the doctor rolled over, forcing the monster onto its back, and drove its head into the ground. He had to finish this quick, and quietly. The creature’s grip on his neck grew tighter, and spots danced before his eyes.
* * * *
The boy looked up as Matt crept up beside him. He opened his mouth, but the gunman slammed his hand over it.
“Henry, right?” Matt whispered. The boy nodded beneath the ropes binding him to the board. “I’m a friend of your father’s.” Matt looked around; the wizard was still chanting over the colonel, and the followers gave no indication they had noticed him. Matt set the shotgun down, pulled out a knife and cut the boy’s ropes.
“Now stay quiet, and start crawling,” he told the boy. “When you reach the tent where they were keeping you, find a place to hide and don’t come out until you hear my voice.” The boy looked back at his father. “Don’t worry about him,” Matt said. The boy’s eyes opened wide, and Matt followed his gaze.
The hechicero had stopped chanting, and had raised a knife above the colonel’s chest.
* * * *
Juan felt himself begin to black out, and forced himself to keep the Tom-thing’s head pinned to the ground. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for a sharp rock or weapon. His bayonet lay a foot away, where it had fallen from the creature’s neck. Juan braced himself against his attacker’s throat and leaned forward. It was just out of reach.
Chingada madre, he thought, and moved his hand further up, against the cuerpo’s face. A sharp pain blazed through the doctor’s hand as his other grasped the bayonet. He reared back and plunged the blade into the creature’s eye once, twice. The pressure around his neck relaxed and he sucked in a sharp, painful breath. He rolled over onto his side and examined his other hand. The undead outlaw had bitten his small finger off down to the second knuckle.
Juan swore again, drew his service revolver and placed the muzzle against the base of the finger.
* * * *
Damn , Matt thought as the boy rushed forward. He jumped on the hechicero ’s back as Henry scooped up the shotgun. The wizard roared, spun around and backhanded the boy. The kid flew backwards, out of the shotgun’s range, and Matt gave the priest both barrels. The hechicero slammed the knife down into the colonel’s chest with an unearthly scream as the blasts tore into his chest and stomach. Then he fell over and didn’t move.
The boy ran to his father and untied the ropes that bound him. The colonel’s breath came in rough, halting gasps. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Matt knelt beside them.
“Take care of my boy,” he said, grasping the collar of Matt’s shirt and struggling to pull him forward.
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