Ezekiel Cool Weird Western Box Set

By Rob Moody

The zombie apocalypse of the future started in the Wild West. 

 

The complete trilogy in one box set.

 

Book 1:

Confederate veteran Ezekiel Cool leads a quiet life as small town sheriff in the Dakota Territory. Haunted by nightmares of wars gone by, he just wants to be left alone.

Then a man steps off a riverboat and bites the town drunk, who then bites someone else, who then ... Ezekiel is thrust back into the role of soldier again. Now he just wants to survive the night.

 

Book 2:

A fort is supposed to keep evil out. But what if evil gets in?

Ezekiel and his people only wanted to warn the rest of the country of the sickness. But how do they make the army believe their story when they're still struggling to believe it themselves?

Turns out they don't need to do the convincing. The biters will.

 

Book 3:

Can the Blood Flower save them all?

Ezekiel isn't so sure. But he's not about to let Myra ride off alone into Sioux holy land to find out.

When Jed gets sick, they need help, and Private Shane introduces them to Miss Calamity Jane. That's when the chaos starts.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: NCP
• Release date: Mar 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393785187

Book preview

Plague at Snake Creek

An Ezekiel Cool Weird Western

Chapter 1

Ezekiel needed to stretch his legs. He stepped out of the sheriff’s office and looked up and down the street. All was calm for now, but the sun was setting, there was a boat at the dock, and he could hear the first sounds of revelry coming from the establishments on either side of his building.

There wasn’t much to the town of Snake Creek, but the river traffic supported two cathouses: Myra’s Place to the north and the one to the south, whose crooked sign read simply, Brothel. Rumor had it Myra had started as a girl in the southern shop. Ezekiel had little interest in rumors.

He walked past Myra’s and continued toward the edge of town, where he stopped and looked across the Missouri. Lately, on several occasions, Ezekiel had thought he’d seen an Indian on a horse, watching him from a bluff on the other side of the river. And on a few of those occasions, Ezekiel had been able to convince himself that said Indian was a product of his imagination. The river narrowed at the bend, but it was still a distance across, and his eyes weren’t what they used to be. Whether real or not, the Indian was there now, in the same spot he’d been before, stock-still. Ezekiel stared at him for several minutes, waiting for movement, but there was none. It was probably a shrub. A trick of the light.

He turned and walked back into town.

Myra was standing on her porch, near her door, smiling at passersby, beckoning them in with her distinctive beauty. It was a bait-and-switch. Once they entered her saloon, they’d be lucky to get anywhere near Myra. He forced a smile and tipped his hat toward her. He liked Myra; he disagreed with her principles.

She waved. Evenin’, Sheriff.

Evenin’. He’d hardly gotten the word out before a loud crash sounded from inside. Her smile vanished as she picked up her skirts and whirled toward the door. Shouting commenced, and Ezekiel followed her inside to find three men brawling in front of the bar. It appeared to be two against one, odds Ezekiel didn’t appreciate. He pulled his duster back over his holster, just in case, and headed their way.

Ezekiel recognized one of the aggressors: the butcher, Randall Ene. Ezekiel had never been an admirer. The man seemed a little too intrigued by blood, a little too fond of chopping things up.

Enough! Ezekiel said, loudly and firmly. Several onlookers stood up straighter at the sound of his voice, and stepped back to let him through, but the fight didn’t slow.

As Myra’s hired hand Kip tried to pull the men apart, a fourth man joined the fray, breaking a whiskey bottle over the head of the underdog, who immediately went to the floor. Leaving Kip to deal with the original brawlers, Ezekiel stepped around the scuffle, drawing his gun as he went, and then used it to club the bottle-brandishing fool in the head. He collapsed into a heap, which drew the two other assailants’ attention. Seeing that the law was now involved, the butcher and his friend calmed down a bit. It was a good thing, because their victim looked half-dead. His face was bloody, his eye already swollen. They had done some damage.

Ezekiel scanned the crowded bar, looking for someone sober. He scanned twice and settled for someone who was only halfway drunk. Bart, help Kip get these two into the jail cell. And Doc, come deal with this guy. He nudged his boot into the man he’d cold-cocked.

Bart seemed excited to be needed and immediately went to help Kip.

Doc, drunk and looking put-out, slid off his stool. And what’re you going to do, Sheriff? he asked accusingly.

None of your concern, but I’m going to get this man over to your daughter. In his head, he added, because she’s better at your job than you are. Ruth did more of the doctoring in Snake Creek than the doc did. Most people understood that he was training her to replace him when he eventually drank himself to death.

Kip reached for the nearest ruffian’s arm. The drunken bully yanked his arm away from Kip’s clutch like a petulant child, but he went willingly enough. Bart grabbed the butcher, and the four men left Myra’s Place.

Ezekiel stepped toward the victim, who appeared to be unconscious. He went to one knee and gave his arm a shake as the crowd began to dissipate.

Is he alive? Myra asked.

Ezekiel didn’t think she cared about the man’s welfare so much as she did about the possible damage to her establishment’s reputation.

He’ll live, Ezekiel answered without looking up. But the man wasn’t responding. Ezekiel got his feet under him, slung the man’s arm over his shoulder, and then brought him to a lopsided stand. He planned to drag him to the doc’s office, but Myra came alongside the injured man and put his other arm over her shoulders. In this way, they carried the man out of the saloon and toward Ruth.

Chapter 2

Y ou don’t have to do this, Ezekiel said, grunting under the man’s dead weight.

I know I don’t, Myra said. But this is not the first man I’ve dragged somewhere, and I might as well help with something I’m so good at.

Ezekiel smiled. He suspected Myra was good at all sorts of things. She had a colorful background. He glanced over at her. The moonlight gave her skin an unearthly glow. Behind her back, people said she was a half-breed—half-Sioux, to be precise. To his knowledge, no one said it within earshot of her. He didn’t know the truth, didn’t care much one way or the other, but if he’d had to place a bet, he would’ve bet it was true. It wasn’t just the tint to her skin—it was her no-nonsense, impassive manner. You could never tell what she was thinking, and she didn’t tell you unless she thought you needed to know. She was far different from any woman he’d known. She didn’t seem to care one whit what anyone thought of her.

A stray cur crossed their path and stopped to sniff the pants of the injured man. Before all three of them tripped over the dog and fell flat on their faces, Ezekiel drew his leg back to give the pup a small kick.

Do not touch that animal, Myra said. Lucky, git! she commanded in a tone that would have elicited both respect and trepidation from a human audience. The dog yelped as if it had been kicked and scurried out of their way, but then followed closely behind Myra’s skirts.

He wasn’t the first man to do so, Ezekiel thought dryly.

They stopped in front of the doc’s door, and Ezekiel rapped on it.

Just open it, Myra said, obviously tired of shouldering the man’s weight.

He’d only been trying to be polite. Maybe Ruth was getting ready to turn in. Ezekiel swung the door open and dragged the man into the dark front room. Lamplight flickered from behind the worn curtain that separated this room from the next. Ruth? he called out as Myra kicked the door shut behind them.

There was no answer. He headed toward the light nonetheless and after a few steps, could have sworn he heard whimpering. Ruth? he said again, softer this time. Something was wrong. He pushed the curtain back with his left hand, and saw Ruth seated in a chair to his right, nearly hugging the wall. Ruth? He reached out to touch her arm, and she shrank away. He looked at Myra. Let’s get him on the bed. Then I’ll deal with her. He dropped the man onto the thin mattress a little more roughly than he’d meant to. He had a finite supply of concern, and the bulk of it had shifted to focus on Ruth. He knew her. He didn’t know the beaten man. Myra lifted the man’s stray leg onto the bed. He shifted a little and moaned; the timing of the moan made it sound like a thank you.

Ruth. Ezekiel stepped to the wall and then slid down it so that his face was only a foot from hers.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut.

What happened? He waited, trying to be patient.

Myra didn’t care about being patient. She stepped closer and shook Ruth’s shoulder roughly. Ruth, get yourself together. This man needs your help.

Myra’s approach worked. Ruth’s head snapped up and to the left to look at Myra. She finally opened her eyes, and it seemed she’d only just realized they were there. Or she’d only just cared. Her words shaky with panic, she asked, What man? Has he been bit?

Bit? Myra exclaimed. I don’t know! But he’s been hit, kicked, and someone broke a bottle over his head. Maybe he got bit too, but can you take a look at him?

Ruth didn’t move.

Ruth! What is wrong with you? Myra swore.

Ruth’s wide eyes narrowed. I’ll not have that language in my father’s office, even under the circumstances.

What circumstances? Myra cried. You haven’t told us what happened!

Ruth turned her attention to Ezekiel and took a shaky breath. You’re going to think I’m mad.

Ezekiel stood up straight, tucked his thumbs into his belt, and looked down at her. He was tired of this and didn’t want to have to coax a story out of her. If she didn’t want to tell it, that was fine by him. Whatever had happened, she had obviously survived it. He pointed his chin toward the man on the bed. That man needs help. Can you give it or not?

Ruth looked at the man and then at Ezekiel. Can you check him for bites first?

Enough. He looked at Myra. Can you stay with them? I’ll go get Doc.

My father’s drunk, Ruth said bitterly.

And you might as well be, Myra said, for all the help you’re being.

She let out a long breath. A man came in a few minutes ago with a bite wound. He wasn’t feeling well. I’d just started looking at it when he turned into an animal. Her eyes flitted back and forth between her listeners, probably trying to gauge whether they believed her. "He tried ... to bite me."

Oh, was that all? Rabies, Ezekiel said.

Ruth shook her head. It wasn’t rabies.

How do you know that? Myra asked.

Because it came over him so suddenly. And he ... he ... it wasn’t rabies.

You don’t know how long he’d had the bite, Ezekiel said.

He said he’d gotten it minutes before. And it looked fresh.

Doubt flickered in Ezekiel’s mind, but then went away. What else could it have been but rabies? I’ll stay with you while you examine this man, and make sure he doesn’t try to bite you.

Ruth nodded, gathered up her skirts, and stood. As she went to the man, Myra grabbed her arm.

Don’t stop her now, Ezekiel thought, we’ve only just got her moving.

Where did the rabid man go?

It wasn’t rabies! Ruth cried.

Have you seen rabies before? Myra asked.

Ruth nodded. Yes, and this wasn’t it.

Ezekiel had never before seen Myra wear the expression she was now wearing, and he didn’t like it. "Have you ever seen a man with rabies? he asked. It probably looks different than a dog."

Ruth looked at the floor and shook her head.

Where did he go? Myra demanded.

Ruth looked toward the back door. She shrugged, looking guilty. I ran out. He followed me out. I guess I should have come for help. I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that. I was too shook up.

Myra stepped closer to Ezekiel. You can’t stay here. You’ve got a man walking around town trying to bite people. I’ll stay with her. She gave him a knowing nod that said she could easily take care of whatever threat this half-dead man posed Ruth.

Ezekiel nodded, a smidge contrite that he hadn’t thought of that point. It just seemed so ridiculous. Did he really have to track down a man trying to bite folks? But Myra’s face conveyed an urgency he found excessive; maybe she knew something he didn’t.

What did he look like? he asked Ruth.

She shook her head. I don’t know.

Oh, good grief. Tall? Short?

Tall.

Wearing a hat?

She shook her head.

Clothes?

She nodded. He was wearing clothes.

Ezekiel sighed. It was a wonder this young woman was as good at doctoring as she was. What did his clothes look like?

Oh. Dirty shirt. Pants. I don’t know. Lots of blood.

That wasn’t good news. His blood? Or someone else’s?

He watched a tremble travel through her. His, I thought.

Is he armed?

I don’t think so.

The man on the bed stirred, and she turned to tend to him.

Ezekiel tipped his hat to Ruth’s back and then to Myra, and then stepped out the back door.

Godspeed, Myra said to his back.

Chapter 3

Ezekiel stepped out into the cooling night and stopped. Where would a man with an inclination to bite someone go, exactly? Ezekiel didn’t know much about rabies. That was the doc’s job. He needed to find him and sober him up so he could deal with this—after he’d found and locked up the biter. His next problem presented itself: he only had one cell, and it already held two drunken fools. He’d have to let them go if he was going to put a rabid man in a cell. Or maybe he would lock all three up together and see what happened. Of course, he couldn’t do that if this really was some kind of rabies. Then he’d have three men wanting to bite people. He shook the thought out of his head.

Ruth had said it wasn’t rabies. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the man was just mad and had bitten himself and then gone in to bite Ruth. That theory settled him, gave him confidence, and he was suddenly motivated to find such a sick individual. He heard a rustling, and his hand went to his hip as he turned toward the noise. He strained to hear with ears that had gone bad from years of gunfire. It sounded like the rustling of clothing—definitely not an animal noise. He drew his Colt even though he didn’t think he’d need it and had no intention of using it, and followed the noise around the back of the building to see a man pinning a woman against the wall with his mouth on her neck.

He cocked and aimed. Get off her! he belted out.

The man sprang back with animal-like agility, but he looked more like a rabbit than a wolf. He threw his hands up into the air. We weren’t doing anything, Sheriff!

That voice sounded familiar. Ezekiel stepped closer and recognized Billy Clark. He lowered his weapon and looked at the woman, who turned out to be only a girl: Nora Peters. What are you two doing back here? He realized that was a stupid question. Never mind. Just get home. It’s not safe out here.

Why? Billy asked.

Because it’s not. Now git, before I tell her pa what I just saw.

Billy, still looking shaken, returned to Nora and grabbed her hand.

On second thought, Have either of you seen a man out here acting strangely?

No, sir, Billy said quickly.

Of course they hadn’t. They’d been busy.

Have you seen any man at all?

No, sir. Billy pulled on her hand, in a hurry to get away from the sheriff.

Ezekiel followed them back to the street and looked both ways for any sign of a demoniac, but he didn’t see any. He turned right and headed north, toward the saloons. There were a dozen or so people in the street, and he gave each a once-over, but they all looked harmless. He slowly passed the brothels and the only saloon in town that didn’t also offer female companionship. If the man had gone into one of those places, Ezekiel probably would’ve heard about it by now, unless he’d put on a clean shirt and stopped trying to bite people. This was possible, of course, and would make it much harder to find him. He’d need Ruth to identify him, and if he got on the boat and sailed away in the morning, they’d never find him. Maybe that would be all right, especially if he hadn’t actually bitten anyone other than himself.

Trying to make sense of this scenario made Ezekiel feel as though he were going a touch mad himself so he tried to stop thinking about it and focus on his search. He reached the edge of town and walked around the livery. Then he stopped and looked down the long line of buildings. All was still. A horse whinnying in the distance and piano music from Myra’s Place were the only sounds. He crossed the street again and went around the hardware store, then started down the river.

He glanced toward the unmoving Indian. Imaginary or not, it was too dark to see him now, but still Ezekiel felt eyes on his back. He followed the river south, straining his eyes and ears. The din of the saloons made it impossible to hear much, but as he left them behind, the night grew quieter. A splash to his right snapped his head toward the river, but he couldn’t see the splash’s author. He stood there for a minute, staring at the water, and then he heard what sounded like a dog whining.

Leaving the river, he headed toward the new sound, and when he came around the corner, he found a man on his knees, reaching under a porch with both arms, where a dog, probably the stray Lucky, was trapped. Ezekiel stopped and studied the man. He was snapping his jaw like an animal and reaching for the dog with a desperation that didn’t make sense. Ezekiel considered his options.

As he deliberated, the man turned his head and looked at Ezekiel.

Chapter 4

The man on his knees forgot about the dog under the porch. He put his hands on the ground and then held still. He faced the ground, but his eyes looked up at Ezekiel. It was as if he didn’t have the strength to pick up his head. Rabies or not, mental madness or not, the man was well beyond sick.

He growled.

Sir, we should get you to the doc.

The man snapped his jaw with a force that had to have hurt and then he tipped his head to the side, still staring at Ezekiel. The moon lit his eyes, and they looked vacant.

Ezekiel studied the man’s face, trying to place him, but he didn’t think he’d seen him before. He had probably come off the riverboat. Could have come from anywhere, could be carrying any sickness.

The man slowly brought himself to his feet, still keeping his head low. Then he stepped toward Ezekiel with his right foot, dragging the other behind. Instinctively, Ezekiel stepped back, slipping the thong off his pistol. He wasn’t sure how to handle this man, but at least the man was moving as slow as cold molasses.

Only seconds after he’d had the thought, Ezekiel realized how foolish it had been. In a blur, the man was suddenly on him, and Ezekiel took his right hand from his hip to bring his fist to the man’s jaw. His head snapped to the side, and he staggered backward, but he didn’t seem pained by the contact.

The man lunged for Ezekiel. It was Ezekiel’s turn to be off balance. Ezekiel knew how to fight, but he’d never fought a man who was trying to bite him, and he fell backward, all his focus on keeping that man’s teeth away from his flesh. Ruth’s imagination wasn’t as wild as Ezekiel had thought. He rolled to his left, forcing the man to roll with him and under him and then he had him pinned. Ezekiel scrambled to his knees and then held the man down with his left hand as he brought his right fist to the man’s face again. But again, the man seemed unaffected by pain and this assault only riled him. He snapped his jaw again and put both his hands on Ezekiel’s chest, and with more strength than was natural, he pushed Ezekiel into the air. Ezekiel fell onto the hard ground with a thud and scrambled to his feet.

Ezekiel drew his weapon and leveled it at the man. Enough! He didn’t want to shoot this man, but this was getting ridiculous. The man didn’t even look at the gun, didn’t even seem aware it was there. He lowered his shoulder and came at Ezekiel at a half-run, still dragging that bum leg behind. His shoulder drove into Ezekiel’s chest, knocking the wind out of him and driving him back into the building behind him. A little dazed, Ezekiel felt the man’s teeth on his shoulder. Ezekiel brought the grip of his revolver down on the top of the man’s head, and he staggered back a foot, but it was only a short reprieve. He came for him again. Ezekiel managed to sidestep this assault but as he did so, he tripped and fell to his side. His temple smashed into something too hard to be anything but a rock, and Ezekiel saw stars. He had dropped his gun.

The man was diving for him, though, so Ezekiel rolled away from the rock as he groped around on the ground for his Colt. As the stranger crashed down beside him, Ezekiel’s fingers brushed against the grip. And even as the man’s teeth came for him again, he pushed the man away with his left hand as the fingers of his right circled around the Colt’s grip. But the ogre pushed back and was soon on top of Ezekiel again. A wave of nausea rolled over him. He didn’t know how bad his head wound was, but he could feel the warm blood trickling from his temple. Absurdly, under the circumstances, the blood tickled.

The man had him pinned. He was heavier than he possibly could have been. Ezekiel tried to hold him up with his left forearm, but those teeth just kept coming for him, snapping, lunging. Ezekiel’s strength was waning fast. He didn’t want to kill the man. But neither did he want the man to tear his face off with his teeth. Wishing he had another choice, Ezekiel brought the Peacemaker to the man’s temple and pulled the trigger.

The Colt roared, and the man’s weight fell on him. Though it defied reason, Ezekiel still feared the man’s teeth and hurriedly pushed him off and rolled away. Then he lay on his side and stared at the dead man. He tried to catch his breath. He half-expected the man to stir, to come at him again, like something out of one of his nightmares. But the man lay still, and Ezekiel’s fear gradually gave way to guilt. He closed his eyes. Confederate veteran Ezekiel Cool had killed another man.

He gingerly reached up to check his wound, which was wet and sticky. He winced at his own touch. Then he remembered the shoulder, and sat up abruptly, which made him so dizzy he almost tipped all the way over. He put his left hand on the ground to steady himself and then, still keeping one eye on the dead man a few feet away, pulled his clothing away from his shoulder. It was darker in the alley, and he couldn’t see well, but he ran his thumb along his skin and found no wound. Relieved, he fell back onto the ground for a respite.

He closed his eyes for only a moment, but when he woke to Lucky licking at his temple wound, he knew he had lain there for longer than he’d meant to. He pushed the dog away and sat up. Myra came around the corner then, and he startled, reaching for his gun. She came to a sudden halt and surveyed the scene.

I’m all right. He got to his feet with more difficulty than he had anticipated. But Ruth was right. There was something really wrong with that man.

The dog went to Myra, his tail whipping back and forth. He had lost concern for Ezekiel’s welfare. Myra stooped to pet him.

Careful. He may have been bitten.

She ran her hands over the dog’s back and then its belly. I don’t feel any wounds. She looked up at him and then stood and stepped closer. You’re hurt.

I’m all right, he said again. But we should go get the doc to look at this man, see if he can figure what was wrong with him.

Myra looked at the body. You killed him? She said it without accusation.

I had no choice. At least, he hadn’t thought so at the time.

She stepped closer still, and he could smell her rose water.

It calmed him some.

Would it be simpler to take the man to the doc?

I don’t know what he’s got. I don’t know if it spreads. I don’t want to touch him. This was a bit foolish. He’d already touched him plenty. But he didn’t want Myra touching him.

All right. You go. I’ll stay with the body and make sure no one comes upon him.

Ezekiel didn’t think there was much chance of that in this alley, but it was probably still a prudent idea. He hesitated, not wanting to leave the woman alone in the dark, but then he realized Myra could likely handle any challenge that might present itself.

Don’t touch him. I’ll be back shortly. He turned to go, finally holstering his weapon.

I shall await your return with bated breath, she said playfully to his back.

Chapter 5

The doc was no longer at Myra’s Place. Of course not. That would be too simple. Ezekiel pounded on the bar to get the barkeep’s attention. Kenny! Ezekiel barked when he continued to ignore him.

Grudgingly, Kenny came toward him. What can I do for you, Sheriff?

Where did Doc go?

Kenny glanced to the spot where the scuffle had occurred, the scuffle that felt like it had taken place a year ago. He went to tend to that man you clobbered with your pistol.

Ezekiel detected some criticism in his tone, but didn’t feel the need to defend himself.

Kenny glanced up at the blood dripping down from under his hat. Someone clobber you too?

Ignoring that, Ezekiel asked, He took him out of here?

Kenny nodded.

Ezekiel said his thanks and headed for the open door. The night felt eerily quiet, and he hurried back to the doc’s office feeling like he was running in circles. His head was pounding.

He could see through the window that lamps were lit, so he didn’t bother knocking this time. He opened the door and stepped inside. Even before he saw him, he knew Doc was there. He could smell the whiskey. He pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the larger room to find Doc and Ruth tending to two of the fighters. They now had matching head bandages.

Doc didn’t even spare him a glance. Sheriff, he said as a greeting.

When Ruth looked up at him, she gasped. What happened? She came toward him, concern etched on her face. She pushed his hat up to get a better look at the wound.

I’m all right. But I found the man, and I killed him.

Her shoulders fell as she let out a long breath. Good.

He was dying to put his hat back into place, but he thought Ruth would only move it again.

Doc turned toward him. Who did you kill? He obviously disapproved.

The biter, Ruth said.

Doc sneered. Oh, will you stop with this nonsense about a biter!

It’s not nonsense, Doc, Ezekiel said. That’s why I’m here. I need you to come take a look at him. Something was really wrong with him.

Doc looked at him with red eyes. But he’s dead now, right? So not much I can do for him?

The more time Ezekiel spent with the good doctor, the less he liked him. He might’ve had rabies. Or he might’ve had something else. Something worse.

Doc dropped his instruments onto the stained table and looked up, finally engaged. What makes you think he had rabies?

Ezekiel looked at Ruth. You didn’t tell him?

I tried to. She glared at her father.

I don’t know if he had rabies. But he possessed a strength beyond what any man should have, and he worked very hard to bite me. More than bite me. Ezekiel’s mind searched for accurate words. "He was trying to ... well, to eat me."

Doc stepped closer and squinted. And did he manage to bite you?

No, because I shot him in the head.

Doc looked at the side of Ezekiel’s head. We should probably tend to that.

Later. He pulled his hat back into place. Myra is waiting with the body. Will you come take a look?

Of course, Doc said, as if he had been cooperative all along. He looked at Ruth. You stay with these two.

She looked annoyed. Obviously.

Ezekiel tipped his hat to her and then led her father out into the night. How drunk are you, this evening? Not passing judgment. Only wondering if you’re up to this task.

Not as drunk as I’d like to be, and I guess we’ll find out. Where did you leave him?

By the general store. I found him on all fours, trying to get at a dog that was hiding under the porch.

"He was trying to bite a dog? That is interesting."

Ezekiel picked up his pace, as much to bring an end to the conversation as to return to Myra.

Did he exhibit any other odd behavior?

Everything he did was odd. There was something wrong with his eyes, and he had a bad leg. Ezekiel recalled the detail then that hadn’t yet quite made it into his consciousness. And he seemed a bit cold.

Cold?

Yes, his skin. It was cool to the touch. And I hit him, hard, several times, but he didn’t seem to feel pain. He was one tough son of a gun.

Doc was silent as he thought this through, and then the quiet was pierced by Myra’s scream.

Chapter 6

Ezekiel reached the alley well before Doc. At first, he couldn’t see Myra. He saw only Bill, the town drunk, standing alone in the alley looking upward and snapping his teeth at the sky. Ezekiel’s stomach turned. He had more of a problem than he thought. Bill!

Bill’s head snapped toward him, and then he came for him. Not this again. Ezekiel reached for his Colt.

Don’t kill him! It’s Bill! Myra called out from somewhere.

Ezekiel knew this was Bill. That’s why he’d called him by name. He backed away, looking up, trying to figure out where Myra was and if she was all right. Then he saw her head sticking out over the porch roof. The clouds had parted, and the moonlight was brighter than it had been only minutes before. "How’d you get