Zombie D.O.A. (40 page)

“Why do you insist on calling me father?”

“Gentlemen.” Yonder reprimanded us.

“Okay, so you have a couple of choices. You either abandon the town…”

“We ain’t running,” Nate interjected.

“…or you prepare to defend yourselves.”

“That get’s my vote,” Nate said.

“May I?” Pastor Ray said ultra-politely.

“Chair acknowledges Mr. McCool.”

“Pastor McCool,” Ray corrected, then continued, “there is a third way. Put your faith in the lord above…”

“Oh yeah, because he’s done such a bang up job getting us to this point.” Nate said.

“The lord moves in mysterious ways.”

“Maybe so, but when I’m facing down a hungry Z or a drugged up biker, I’d rather have a rifle in my hand.

The meeting quickly got out of order from there.

“Order!” Yonder shouted and banged on the counter making the glasses rattle. Nate and Pastor Ray ignored her and squared up across the table, Nate matching Ray’s scripture with a couple of choice expletives.

“I am not leaving my home,” Ray was saying, “and I won’t have my church used as a lookout post!”

“Fine,” Nate countered, “and when the Dead Men are herding you and your flock down A Street, don’t come crying to us.”

“The lord is my shield and my protector…”

“Yeah, but how’s he with a rifle?”

“Gentlemen!” Yonder shouted and eventually they fell silent. “That’s better. Now, I’m asking you gentlemen for the last time. I’m not sure you appreciate the gravity of our situation. Someone’s bound to come looking for those men we have locked up in the jail. And when they do, we need to be ready. So Ray…”

“Pastor Ray…”

“So Pastor Ray, I’m going to ask you to stop interrupting. And Nate I’m going to ask you to keep a civil tongue in your mouth.”

Nate looked at her like a scolded schoolboy with a crush on his teacher. Ray simply huffed and looked out the window.

“Chris…er…Mr. Collins,” Yonder said. “Would you continue?”

“What I was saying is, with the numbers we got, it’s going to be impossible to defend the whole town. We need to bring everyone into a smaller space, where we can er… have more compact firepower. “ I felt embarrassed using the term.  I’d never served in the military and knew very little of military strategy. I had however, managed to survive for three years on the road, and I’d learned some stuff watching Joe Thursday and Babs and listening to Tom Riley’s war stories. Plus as a professional fighter I knew the value of playing to your strengths, of making yourself a small target, of luring the other guy in, of hitting hard and moving fast.

“So what I’m proposing is we move everyone into the center of the grid and make this building here, the town hall plus the sheriffs office, our stronghold. For starters they’re the only brick structures in town. If The Dead Men decide to start a fire these dry old wood buildings will go up like tinderboxes.”

“Solid thinking,” Nate said.

“The problem with this plan…”

“Here it comes,” Ray muttered.

“…is that we’re pretty much backing ourselves into a corner, and as a fighter I know that’s usually a bad idea, especially you’re up against someone with superior hitting power, which we know we are. And that brings me to the second problem…”

“There’s more?” Ray said sarcastically and Yonder shot him a glare.

“We have virtually no weapons. I’ve got the shotgun, but not much ammo. Nate, you’ve got your rifle, and I’m imagining Cal has one too…”

“He does,” Nate confirmed.

“…then there’s the rifles and hand guns we took off those bikers…”

“I have a handgun,” Yonder cut in, then added in an embarrassed tone, “an old Colt .45, but I’m sure it still fires.”

“Even so, we come up way short against the firepower they’re likely to be packing.”  

“We could ride those Harleys into Whelan or Canadian,” Nate said, “There’s sure to be a sporting goods store and the sheriff’s building’s likely to have some guns.”

“That’s good for a start, but I was hoping for something heavier. Are there any military bases in the area? “

“Closest I know of is Karnack, and that’s some haul.” Nate said.

“Even if you get your weapons, who’s going to fire them?” Pastor Ray scoffed. “There’s only twelve men in this town, and other than you fellers and Cal, all of them are members of my congregation.”

“Women are quite capable of firing a weapon,” Yonder said.

“Yes they are,” Pastor Ray agreed, “In my experience, women are capable of just about anything.”

“Okay, let’s bring her all back on target.” Nate said. “So we drive into Whelan and pick up some munitions, then we come back here and set up our Alamo. What about our other problem? What if they have us surrounded?”

“We need to set up a couple of fall back positions,” I said, “and we need a plan for getting to them without getting ourselves shot.”

Old man Crouch started slowly lifting his hand and Yonder saved him the trouble by saying, “Mr. Crouch?“

“We can use the railroad,” Crouch said. 

“The railroad?” Yonder said, as though addressing a child.

“Old boy’s flipped this time,” Nate said.

“But, Mr. Crouch, the railroad hasn’t run to Pagan since the mine closed. That’s nigh on eighty years.” Yonder said.

Crouch nodded his head seriously, as though acknowledging a sad truth.

“So how can we…”

“The mine rail,” Crouch interrupted.

“The mine rail?”

“There was a time when Pagan was a booming place you know,” Crouch continued. “You should have seen her in those days, streets all lit with electric light, gaming tables at the Kimberly Saloon, Oldsmobiles and Hudsons in every drive. We had us a school and a medical centre and…”

“Mr. Crouch, the mine rail?” Yonder reminded him.

“I’m getting to that,” Crouch said as though resenting the interruption. “Of course in those days, I was just a boy, but it was a sight to see. My pa worked in the mine you know, even took me up there a time or two, when Jim Kimberly allowed.”

“Jim Kimberly?”

“Oh yes, Silver Jim, they called him, owned the mine, the saloon, hell you could say the whole darn town belonged to him. The day that Burt Harford shot Silver Jim is the day Pagan died I always say.”

“Mr. Crouch, all this is very interesting, but…” Yonder started before the old man cut he off with a look.

“Shot him dead right there in the street outside the Kimberly Saloon, he did, and all over a woman. Young lady, do you think I could get some water?”

Yonder poured him a glass, and he sipped from it, dribbling as much down his chin as he swallowed.

“Bella Harford her name was, Belle to all that knew her, and she was a pretty young thing. Never did know what she saw in old Burt, but her and Silver Jim, now there was a handsome couple. And as is usually the case with these things, everyone knew about their goings on, except Burt.” The old man chuckled to himself, his eyes misty with remembering.

“Jezebel,” Ray muttered.

“Anyhow, Belle and Jim had to keep their liaisons discreet, this being a small town and all, so Silver Jim got in some of his boys from the mine, swore them all to secrecy and got them digging a tunnel.”

“A tunnel?” Nate said.

“Yes sir, my father was on that crew and Jim Kimberly paid handsomely to keep his little secret. My daddy bought himself a brand new Olds, straight off the lot in Amarillo, drove that car till the day he died.”

“So where is this tunnel?” Nate insisted.

Old Crouch took another sip of water, his hand shaking so much Ray had to steady it. Even the pastor seemed captivated by the story.

“The tunnel,” Crouch said, “runs from the storage cellar in the Kimberly Saloon out towards the mining supply depot. Belle and Jim used to rendezvous back there in them days and no one ever saw them coming and going. It was only in later years, when my pa was in the nursing home near Pampa, and Silver Jim was twenty years in the ground, that my pa told me the story.”

“You said something about the mine rail, Mr. Crouch,” Yonder reminded him.

“Did I? Oh yes, so I did. Well, the mine rail runs underground from the supply depot right the way through those hills.”

The Kimberly Saloon stood on A Street right next to the Sherriff’s Office, which in a mining boom town must have saved a lot of commuting time. The saloon was a two-storey, wood-frame building had been built in the late eighteen hundreds. It resembled something straight out of a western movie, but its glory days were long gone. Most of the windows and doors had been boarded up and its wooden walls had been bleached a sickly gray by the sun and the years.

  Between Nate and I we pried the boards away from the main entrance, revealing, true to form, a pair of batwing doors behind. We entered the saloon, and I was amazed at how well preserved it was. To one side stood a long bar counter with a mirror behind it. There were gaming tables and chairs, a piano in the corner and a small stage next to it, all covered liberally in dust and cobwebs. At the back of the room a stairway led to a landing and the upstairs rooms.

Nate pointed out a door to the side of the bar and we headed in that direction, the floorboards protesting our every step with loud creaks. Behind the door we found a small office, with a roll top desk, a few file cabinets and a floor safe, it’s door open. There was a faded carpet on the floor and when we rolled it back we found a trapdoor, with a ring set into it. The hinges of the door had stiffened with age and it took both of us to lift it, but once we did we found a wooden staircase leading into the darkness.

Nate rustled up some papers from the desk, rolled them into a torch and lit it, and we descended the stairs. I’d expected to find a storeroom down there, but what we found instead was a bedroom.

There was a fancy three-pronged candleholder on the bedside table and Nate lit a candle for each of us, lighting the space.

As the room came into focus, Nate let out a whistle between his teeth. “Guess the old feller was wrong about the rendezvous spot,” he said.

The room was small, but well appointed, with a double bed, a fancy dressing table, and a large ornate bureau. There was even a small icebox. The floor was carpeted and the walls were papered with patterned red wallpaper that looked expensive.

“So where’s this tunnel old Crouch was talking about?” Nate asked.

“Well,” I said, “I’m guessing the Jim and Belle didn’t have much need for clothing down here, so I’m wondering why they needed such a big closet.” I opened the door to the bureau and pushed aside the few items that hung there. The candle illuminated the inside and, clearly outlined in the back panel, was a narrow doorway, held in place by a hook-and-eye latch. 

“Silver Jim, you sly ol’ fox,” Nate chuckled.

The bureau was tall and I hardly had to stoop at all to step inside. I unlatched the hook and pushed the door and it swung outward with barely a creak. Beyond it lie a tunnel of maybe six feet high and three across. There were support beams on either side and the roof was supported by what looked like railway sleepers. Silver Jim had gone to great lengths to ensure that his ladylove wouldn’t get crushed by a cave in.