"Jackie?" Black Jack stirred from a troubled sleep. The wound in his shoulder was aching again, and someone was calling his name. It was probably a dream; the voice sounded like Spike's. "...Jackie.... You there, Jackie??" It wasn't a dream. Someone was calling. Jack stumbled towards consciousness, then winced as the throbbing wound brought him fully awake. The crawlspace beneath the Mission House was not the best place to spend the night, even without bandages. He shook his head and opened the trapdoor a crack. The kitchen above was deserted, the little potbellied stove lit as always. The calls were coming from the nave, and now the sound of footsteps accompanied them. Jack produced a pistol in his good hand, and moved forward. It's odd, he thought, rounding the altar quietly. That voice really does sound just like.... "Jackie.... I think I hurt my head, Jackie...?" Spike Dougan staggered slowly up the pews, still clad in the torn shirt in which they had buried him. He stared vacantly from side to side, with the same childish grin Jack remembered, and his eyes had a look of untold wonder in them. As he lurched up the aisle, he knocked the pews aside like toys, sending Bibles flying into the air. But none of that concerned Black Jack. What concerned him was the blackened bullet hole in the middle of Spike's forehead: the hole he himself had put there. "There you are!" Spike called, his face brightening. "I been looking for you all over, Jackie!" "Sorry.... Sorry, Spike," Jack returned, hiding his growing unease. "But you found me now!" "I sure did. Hee hee. You been hidin' from me, Jackie?" Spike drew closer, and now Jack could see that the back the man's skull had shattered. Chunks of grey brain matt( remained in his pan, pulsing grotesquely in the dim cand light. Jack fought the urge to retch. "No ... no. Its just that I ... we've been having some trouble" He cocked his gun. "You went and left me on the street. I woke up, and I was all alone. You didn't wait for me?" "I couldn't," Jack swallowed and narrowed his eyes. "We had things to do" "I remember I fell down. I think thats where I hurt my head. You didn't help me up" "Like I said, we had to..." "Why didn't you help me up, Jackie? I was hurt" "I know, but I figured a big guy like you..." The puppy-dog look in Spike's eye began to fade, replaced by a faint glow. "I hurt my head, Jackie. Do you remember how I hurt my head?" Jack raised the pistol slowly. "I can't say as I do." The glow in Spike's eyes was brighter now, and his face began to twist. "I think you hurt my head, Jackie. Why'd you do that?" "I don't remember, Spike. " The pistol went off with a loud crack, followed by three more. Jack couldn't fan the hammer with his weak arm, but he fired quickly enough. Spike staggered backward as the bullets slammed into his chest... ... and he kept coming. His smile cracked into a snarl, he spoke with a thundering voice that had no place on human lips. "Why'd you have to do that Jackie? Now I'm gonna kill you. Jack backed up against the altar, trying desperately to reload. The chamber fell from his fumbling fingers, and agony shot through his shoulder as he bent down to recover it. The thing in Spike Dougan's form careened toward him, all traces of humanity vanished. Jack closed his eyes and braced himself for the blow. It never came. A shotgun blast caught the harrowed outlaw from behind, obliterating the front of his skull to match the back. Spike's face vanished in a spray of red, and his clenched fists fell limply to his sides. The now-headless body crashed to the ground before Jack, revealing the concerned face of the church's pastor at the head of the aisle. Father Juan Navarro clenched the smoking shotgun like a rosary, his eyes flinty and unmoving. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. "Debitum naturae," the priest muttered. 'Ashes to ashes; dust to dust." "I thought you never killed anyone, Father." "I don't. Senor Dougan has been dead for some time." "Yeah." Jack stared wide-eyed at the corpse, allowing the shock to settle in for the first time. "He ... he really was dead, wasn't he?" "I'm afraid so. Are you hurt?" "I'll live. I'm a little more concerned with the fellow I killed last month showing up and asking me why I did it." "It's worse than that" Navarro's face was creased with concern. "Senor Dougan is not an isolated case, I fear." "What are you saying?" "I'm saying that this is the start of something more: The dead returning to life. Monsters walking the streets. The legions of Hell preparing to make Gomorra their own" Jack snorted. "Now wait a minute, Father. This town isn't exactly Bethlehem, but I wouldn't..." "You haven't been on the streets lately. You haven't seen the fear in the people's eyes" "That doesn't..." "Then explain what just happened here." Jack considered for a minute. "I can't," he conceded at last. "I know. I was as incredulous as you, senor. But something happened here a few nights ago that changed my mind." Navarro gestured back towards the door. A small, huddled figure stepped tentatively into the light, his bearded face glancing nervously from side to side. "This is Humphrey Walters," Navarro explained. "I'm sure you know the name. He has something to tell you, and I want you to listen very carefully." "It's preposterous! Complete horse manure!" Jackson stood up from the pew around which the trio was clustered and threw up his hands. "That's what I used to think," Walters giggled maniacally, "But then I saw the light." "You're crazy! He's crazy, Juan. You know that!" "He may be mad, but that doesn't mean he's wrong," the priest spoke with quiet authority. "You actually believe this?! That the mother lode is actually a gateway to Hell, and that it's resting beneath Lord Grimely's?!" "Yes. Consider the evidence." "Consider the source! With all due respect, Mr. Walters, you're deranged!" "Ever wonder why?" the madman snickered. "I used to. But now I know better." "I don't believe this!" Jackson shouted. Juan put his hand on the outlaw's shoulder. "If you would believe me, at least trust me. I'm not a fool, nor am I given to wild speculations. And I'm telling you that something fearsome has its eye on Gomorra." Jackson studied him for a moment. "Let's suppose, for the sake of argument, that all of this is true, and that some Demon is on his way here to drag us all to Perdition. What do you expect me to do about it?" "Help us stop it. You and your gang." "Gang? I don't have a gang anymore. You and your brother--that's my gang." Juan looked at him pointedly. "Then ask the sheriff's department for help." Jackson burst out laughing. "Now I know you're cracked!" Juan said nothing. The laughing slowly stopped. "They killed my whole gang!" Jack spat. "Laid four guys out dead-one of them shot in the back, I might add!" "Such are the hazards of your profession. It's time to move past that." "No! Absolutely not!" Juan looked at him. "They'll kill me if I show my face!" Jack shouted. Juan said nothing. "Hunter's got my outfit's blood on his hands! I'll see this town in Hell before I trust him!" "Are you sure about that?" Navarro asked quietly. Jack sighed. "It's coming, my good fellow", Walters whispered. "As sure as the sun shines." The outlaw looked at the two men, from one face to the other. Their eyes spoke volumes. He sighed again and sat down. "Hunter won't listen to me" "He will if he understands the stakes," Juan was patient. "Don't you see? This is the cause of it! You and Sweetrock, the Collegium and the Maze Rats, Federals and Confederates! This entire town is tearing at each other's throats! It brings the Unholy ones here, like blood to sharks. What happened to Senor Dougan will continue, growing worse and worse ... until we let go of our hatred and realize who the true enemy is!" "I'm ... I'm sorry, Father." Jackson shook his head. "It's just too much to swallow. I know you mean well. I know you want us to turn the other cheek. But I just can't belie it. I need to see some real proof before I shake hands with those who want me dead." "The proof lies there before you" Navarro gestured at Dougan's corpse. "But if you need more, I think that can I arranged." He stood up. "Tomorrow night a man is coming here--a man who saved me from creatures I can scarcely describe. Speak to him; listen to what he has to say. If he can't convince you I'll look elsewhere for help. " "One man can do all of that?" "You haven't met him. I don't trust Austin Stoker, but he knows what we face" Navarro paused. "And he can show you what you need to see." Back to The DoomTown Epitath Issue 3 Table of Contents Back to The DoomTown Epitath List of Issues Back to MagWeb Master Magazine List © Copyright 1999 by Alderac Entertainment Group This article appears in MagWeb (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. 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