Joe Lansdale - Dead in the West

"All right, David," the Reverend said, "let's get him into the back of the wagon."

They carried him over, placed him on top of the tent poles, then with David in the back with the corpse, the Reverend and Abby on the seat, they started back toward Mud Creek.

One of the corpse's hands had slipped out from under the blanket, and direct sunlight struck it. It smoked faintly.

The hand moved slowly back under the blanket.

None of the living saw it.

X

They took Nolan to the undertaker and the doctor was called over.

"Fancy seeing you again," Doc said to the Reverend.

The Reverend nodded.

"You need me back there, Dad?" Abby asked.

"I'll handle it. Keep David and the Reverend company"

The doctor left the others in the front room. He and Mertz went back to look at the body.

It lay on a table next to the banker who was naked, cleaned, and stuffed in a tub of ice.

Doc looked at the tub, then back to Mertz.

"Keeps 'em fresh. He isn't going to be buried until tomorrow late. Having a hard time getting mourners. Going to have to pay for some."

"I reckon he can afford it," Doc said.

Doc examined Nolan. He had a crushed hand and what looked like a bite on his neck. He frowned.

"That's just like Nate had—isn't it?"

"More or less," Doc said.

Doc went over the body, stripping it of its clothes as he went. When he was finished, he went to the washbasin and washed his hands, dried them.

"Well," Mertz said. "What's the cause of death?"

"Loss of blood."

"From that wound? It's bad, but not that bad,"

"Nonetheless," Doc said, put on his coat, and went out.

Mertz looked at Nolan and patted him affectionately. "Doc's getting old," he said.

…

Mertz picked up Nolan's clothes from the floor and went through them for valuables. He'd done fairly well by Nate, getting a ring and a silver dollar. And he got a wallet. Empty.

But a nice wallet. He figured Caleb had profited the contents of Nate's wallet before his body was brought in.

Win some, lose some.

He set about his business.

XI

Doc came out and said, "I know this isn't supposed to be something you say after you look at a corpse, but I'm hungry. Let's go over to the house for something to eat. You coming too, David?"

"No sir, I got to skedaddle. Pa will want me over at the livery the rest of the day. I'll put the poles in the shop, Reverend."

"That okay with your pa?" the Reverend asked. "Yeah, long as you pay him for keeping them overnight," "Figures," the Reverend said. "Very well." David darted for the door, stopped, turned. "Reverend. Can I see you a minute?"

David and the Reverend went outside.

"I just wanted to say," David mumbled, "I had a real good time today." "So did I." "I think you could do a lot worse than Miss Abby. You ought to keep her."

"She's not a fish, David."

"You know what I mean."

"I'll consider it. It'll be up to her."

"Thanks for the shooting lesson."

"You're welcome—and aren't you glad we didn't use Abby for shooting practice?"

David smiled. "Yeah. But maybe she'd have been big enough for me to hit. I'm no good on sticks.

"Practice, that's the key."

They shook hands.

David climbed on the wagon, clucked to the team, and started for the blacksmith shop.

XII

Doc and Abby had a house connected to the back of the office. It was simple, but nice.

Abby fixed beans, tortillas, and coffee, and after they ate, they retired to Doc's study. It was stuffed full of books and the smell of cigar smoke. The study connected directly to Doc's office.

They took chairs near Doc's desk, and he spoke. "I'm not sure I want to tell this, but I've thought on it all day, consulted books, and I intend to consult others. And, Reverend, as a man of God, a man who deals with immortal souls, I think you're definitely the one to hear this. I guess I could have Calhoun over too, but he's an idiot. So, I'll just keep it between the three of us. My daughter already thinks I'm crazy, but she has to live with me. And you, Reverend—there is something about you. You're a man of God, but you're also a realist." Doc nodded at the gun. "What I need right now is someone who is not only knowledgeable of man's soul, but of everyday realities. Reverend, do you believe the dead can walk?"

"What?" Abby said.

Doc didn't answer. He just looked at the Reverend. The Reverend was taken totally by surprise, but finally, "On an everyday basis, no."

"I'm serious," Doc said.

"I thought you might be.... All right. I suppose the dead can walk. Under certain circumstances. Lazarus walked and he had been dead for some time. Dead and entombed."

"I'm talking about the living dead, not returning from the dead."

"Dad?" Abby said, "Are you off your rocker?"

"Maybe."

"'You mean nosferatu?" the Reverend said. "Ghouls? Zombies?"

"Then you know what I'm talking about?"

"Not exactly, but I've read a book or two on folklore."

"Okay. I'll cut through the horseshit. The man who fell apart in the street. He was dead before he fell."

Silence hung in the air like an anvil.

"Dad " Abby said, "that isn't possible "

"I've been telling myself that all afternoon. But I examined the body—pieces of it—under a microscope, performed various tests on it. That was dead, decaying flesh. The sun was speeding up the decay, but I tell you, that man was dead. An examination of the internal organs proved it."

"Dead. And the sunlight was speeding up the decay. Doc, I have to admit, I find that hard to buy."

"Reverend, I am not a quack and I am not crazy. The man was dead, and before he fell.

The sun was working on his body, dissolving it like ice cream. There is no such disease known to man,"

"Maybe there is now," Abby said.

"If you want to call being one of the living dead a disease, and I suppose you could. Both of you, hear me out. Reverend, you know I'm on to something. I can see it in your eyes.

There is something going on in this town and it runs through it like a cold winter wind.

Deny it."

"I can't," the Reverend said. "There is something about this place, and I know, somehow, I'm part of it. I was driven here by the Lord, for what I do not know. But, the living dead—ghouls? Vampires?"

"Let me tell you something about Mud Creek, Reverend. It's got a curse on it, and I fear everything and everyone in this town is going to die like a bug-stung tomato.

"Reverend, the moment I saw you, I knew you were part of this thing—I don't know how I knew, but I just knew. It was like you were the last ingredient in a stew, the chili pepper.

This town is turning rotten, and it has to do with an Indian and his woman."

"Dad," Abby said, "forget it"

"No. I can't forget it. Just listen. Let me tell you what I think, and then, when I'm finished, if the two of you want to call me crazy, walk out of here and hide from me, I’ll understand. And Reverend, if you believe me and want to get on your horse and ride out of here and never look back, I'll understand that too. So before you pass judgment on my sanity, hear my story. In fact, I hope you'll tell me I'm full of manure and make me believe it—maybe that's what I'm hoping for most of all."

Doc opened a desk drawer, took out a bottle of whisky and three small glasses. Abby and the Reverend declined.

Doc nodded, poured himself one.

"This will help me tell it," he said, and Doc told his story.

THE DOCTOR'S STORY

About a month ago this wagon rolled into town. It was brightly painted. Red and yellow with blue and green snakes twisting together on the side. At the top of the wagon painted in black were the words MEDICINE WAGON. An Indian was driving the wagon. He might have been mixed with negro. It was hard to tell. I'd never seen the likes of him before. He had shoulders broader than any man I've ever known, and he was darn near seven feet tall.