David Gemmell - Bloodstone

'What's happening, Clem?' he whispered.

'Hellborn,' answered the shootist.

I'm still dreaming, thought Broome. The Hellborn are all gone, destroyed by the Deacon in the bloodiest massacre ever seen in this new world. A shot clipped wood from the window-frame and smashed into a framed embroidery on the far wall. Josiah Broome chuckled. It was the damnedest dream. The embroidery tilted, the centre ripped away. Broome could still read the words: The works of man shall perish, the love of the Lord abideth always.

He tried to stand. 'Get down!' ordered Steiner.

'Just a dream, Clem,' said Josiah, getting his knees under him. Steiner launched himself across the floor, his shoulder cannoning into Broome's legs as the older man straightened. Shots smashed into the far wall and the embroidery fell to the floor, the pine frame splitting.

'No dream. You understand? This is no dream!'

Josiah felt the breath forced from his lungs, and his chest wound flared, pain ripping through him.

'But… but they can't be Hellborn!'

'Maybe so,' agreed Clem, 'but trust me, Josiah, if they're not originals they are giving a passable fair impression.' The younger man groaned as he twisted up into a sitting position, guns cocked. 'If you feel strong enough, you might think of getting a tourniquet on this wound of mine. Don't want to bleed to death and miss all the fun.'

A shadow crossed the window. Clem's guns roared and Josiah saw a man smashed from his feet. 'Why are they doing this?' Josiah asked.

'I don't feel up to asking them,' Clem told him. 'Rip up a sheet and make some bandages.' Josiah glanced down at the wound in Clem's thigh. Blood was flowing steadily, drenching the black broadcloth pants.

His own clothes were laid over the back of a chair. Crawling to them, Josiah pulled the belt clear and returned to Clem. Then he broke off a section of the pine frame that had encased the embroidery. Clem wrapped the belt around his thigh above the wound, stretching the leather tight against the skin. He tried to use the pine to twist the belt tighter, but the wood snapped. The bleeding slowed, but did not stop.

'You better take one of these pistols, Josiah,' said Clem. 'I might pass out.'

Broome shook his head. 'I couldn't kill — not even to save my life. I don't believe in violence.'

‘I do so like to meet a man of principle at times like these,' said Clem wearily. Shots sounded from above, and outside a man screamed.

Clem crawled across to the doorway, and glanced into the main room. Beth was behind the table, rifle in hand. The old woman, Zerah, was below the window, a pistol in her fist. Dr Meredith was lying by the western wall, the children and Isis close to him. 'Everyone all right?' called Clem.

'Bastards broke my shoulder,' Zerah told him. 'Hurts like Hell.'

Meredith left the children and crawled across to Zerah. Swiftly he examined her. The bullet broke your collar-bone and ripped up and out through the top of your shoulder. It's bleeding freely, but no vital organs were hit. I'll get some bandages.'

'What can you see upstairs?' shouted Beth.

Nestor Garrity's voice floated down to them. 'They've taken shelter at the barn and behind the trough.

We downed fourteen of them. Some crawled back to safety, but there's nine bodies that ain't moving.

And I think Clem hit two mpre that we can't see from up here.'

'You keep watch now,' Beth called, 'and let us know when they move.'

'Yes, Frey.'

The baby began to cry, a thin pitiful sound that echoed in the building. Beth turned to Isis. 'There's a little milk left in the kitchen, girl. Be careful as you get it.'

Isis kept low as she crossed the room and went through the kitchen. The back door was barred, the shutters on the window closed tight. The milk was in a tall jug on the top shelf. Isis stood and lifted it down; then moving back to the baby, she sat beside the crib. 'How do I feed her?' she asked Beth.

Beth swore and moved from the table to a chest of drawers, laying down her rifle and removing a pair of fine leather gloves from the second drawer. They were the only gloves she'd ever owned, given to her by her first husband, Sean, just before they were married. Never even worn them, thought Beth. From a sewing box on top of the chest she took a needle and made three small holes through the longest finger of the left-hand glove. Gathering up her rifle, she made her way to the crib. The baby was wailing now and she ordered Isis to lift the infant boy and hold him close. Beth half-filled the glove, then waited until milk began to seep through the needle-holes. At first the baby had difficulty sucking on the glove, and choked.

Isis supported the back of his head and he began to feed.

They're sneaking round the back!' shouted Nestor. 'Can't get a good shot!'

Clem lurched back into the rear bedroom and waited to the right of the window. Shadows moved on the ground outside, and Clem could make out the horns of a Hellborn helmet on the hard-baked earth. There was no way he could tell how many men were outside, and the only way to stop them was to frame himself in the window and open fire. Clem's mouth was dry.

'Do it now,' he told himself, 'or you'll never have the nerve to do it at all.'

Swiftly he spun round, guns blazing through the shattered window. Two men went down, the third returned fire and Clem was hit hard in the chest, but he coolly put a shell through the Hellborn's head.

Then he slumped down and fell against the bed.

Josiah Broome crawled alongside him. 'How bad is it?' asked the older man.

'I've had better days,' Clem told him as he struggled to reload. The Hellborn pistol took a larger calibre of shell than his own pistol, and it was empty now. Angrily he cast it aside. 'Goddamn,' he said bitterly.

Those sons of bitches are really starting to get my goat!' His gun loaded, he leaned back, too frightened to check the chest wound. Broome moved out into the main room and called for Dr Meredith. The sandy-haired young man made his way to Clem, and the shootist felt the man's fingers probing.

Meredith said nothing and Clem opened his eyes. 'You want to tell me the good news?' he asked.

'It isn't good,' said Meredith softly.

'There's a surprise.' Clem was feeling light-headed and faint, but he clung on. There weren't enough defenders and he wasn't going to die just yet. He coughed. Blood rose in his throat and sprayed out on to Meredith's pale shirt. Clem sank back. The sun was setting, the sky the colour of burning copper. Clem levered himself to his feet, staggered and righted himself by gripping the window-frame.

'What are you doing?' asked Josiah Broome, reaching out to grab Clem's arm. Meredith took hold of Broome's shoulder, drawing him back.

'He's dying,' whispered Meredith. 'He has only minutes left.'

Clem fell across the ruined window, then lifted his leg over the sill. The air was fresh and cool outside, not filled with the acrid smell of black powder. It was a good evening, the sky bright. Clem dropped to the ground and half-fell. Blood filled his throat and he thought he was suffocating, but he swallowed it down and staggered to the corpses, relieving them of their pistols and tossing the weapons through the window.

One of the Hellborn was wearing a bandolier of shells. With difficulty, Clem tugged it loose and passed it to Broome.

'Come back inside!' urged Broome.

'I like… it… here,' whispered Clem, the effort of speaking bringing a fresh bout of coughing.

Clem staggered to the edge of the building. From here he could see the horse trough, and the two men hiding behind it. As he stepped into sight, they saw him and tried to bring their rifles to bear. Clem shot them both. A third man rose from behind the paddock fence and a bullet punched into Clem's body, half spinning him. He returned the fire — but missed.