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Nathan nodded and then glanced at the sky. “We’re losing light. It’s time to go.” He swung up into the saddle of his horse, making the leap in one swift, fluid movement. “Try to make sure everyone stays together, Sheriff. We don’t want the demon to get the drop on us and pick us off, one by one.”

As everyone was mounting up, Louis skittishly started for the horse O’Rouke supplied for him.

“
Think you can handle him?” O’Rouke teased as Louis attempted to climb into the house.

Wrapping his hand around the pommel of the saddle and shoving his shiny boot-tip into the stirrup, Louis drew in a ragged breath as he prepared to hurl himself astride the neighing beast.

“
Don’t fret about me,” the New Yorker grunted as he managed to pull his way up onto the horse and tried to find his balance in its saddle. “I’ll keep up.”

O’Rouke snorted and rode on after the others, leaving Louis to bring up the rear of their small posse.

Not far outside of town, Nathan spotted a farm to the northeast. “What’s that?”

O’Rouke cleared his throat and spat onto the ground. “Don’t rightly know, mister. I just got here yesterday. Haven’t had the time to scope things out properly yet.”

“
That’s the Green estate,” an older man with wrinkled skin and graying hair answered. “Ain’t nobody there. Green died some months ago and his workers hit the trail. Reckon the bank will get the place if none of the family shows up to claim it.”

“
Wait,” Louis stopped him. “Did you say Green?”

O’Rouke exchanged concerned glances with Louis, then addressed the group. “A Ms. Green came into Reaper’s Valley on the stage with us. She was planning to settle her brother’s affairs, if I recall things right.”

Nathan stared at the farm. “He’s there.”

“
How can you know?” Louis asked.

“
Let’s go!” Nathan shouted, ignoring Louis’ question, and spurred his horse. The horse took off at a full gallop, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. Nathan was already jumping out of his saddle when the others caught up to him at the house.

“
Damnation, boy!” O’Rouke complained as he dismounted. “You want help or not?”

“
Tracks,” Bull called to them in stilted English. “Man rode in. Not long before.”

Nathan walked onto the porch and tried the door. It was locked and didn’t budge. O’Rouke started yelling orders at his men. “Fan out! I don’t want nothing getting out of that house unless we see it first.”

Nathan backed off the porch, drawing one of his pistols.

“
What are you thinking?” O’Rouke asked, walking toward the man in black. “Door is locked, I saw you trying it. And none of the windows are broken. Maybe Ms. Green found a place to stay in town?” the lawman postulated.

***

Louis followed Buck and two men named Hank and Tony around behind the house. Hank carried a Winchester rifle while Tony clutched a stout looking shotgun. Bull held a large, wicked knife. Louis realized with a start that he was unarmed. O’Rouke hadn’t given him a weapon and he’d passed on his Derringer to Beth.

“
Try the back door and see if it’s open,” Hank ordered Tony as they crept along the back side of the farmhouse.

The thin cowhand nodded and stealthily approached the door. “It’s locked, too,” Tony said quietly. He turned to Louis. “Think we should let ourselves in?”

Splinters of wood flew as a pair of leathery, greenish hands with long, curved fingernails burst through the door and grabbed Tony from behind. The cowhand lost his grip on his shotgun as the hands yanked him so hard into the door that his breath left his body in a loud grunt.

The hands released the cowhand and he toppled into the dirt, bleeding from where the claw-like nails had sunk into his flesh. Hank whipped his rifle up to his shoulder and fired several times into the door. More wood splintered and cracked as the bullets punched through it.

“
Nathan!” Louis screamed as the door completely shattered, bursting outward, as Eliza sprang from the house at them. At least, Louis thought it was Eliza. The thing wore the same black dress of mourning, but the resemblance to the woman he fondly remembered ended there. This woman’s skin was reptilian brown and green, and her once-stunning blue eyes blazed a shade of yellow that glowed in the dimness of the growing twilight.

Hank fired a round into her stomach that sent her staggering backward with an inhuman squeal of pain.

Bull rounded the corner of the house at a full sprint. The big Indian snatched her up in his long arms, pinning her hands to her sides, careful to avoid her sharp, clawing fingers. The woman roared and, with impossible, preternatural strength, ripped Bull’s thick arms from his body and tossed them to the ground

The Indian screamed as blood squirted from where his arms used to be. He staggered forward, his bronzed features contorted in agony, and tripped over the bloody stumps that were once his upper extremities. He fell to his knees with a muted thud, then bled out, his legs tangled with his amputated arms.

The woman screeched and moved with the grace and speed of a ferocious cat, charging Hank. He managed to fire another shot, which blew a chunk of flesh from her shoulder, before she slammed into him, taking him down to the ground with her. They rolled a couple of rotations, each vying for control, but she came out on top. She sat astride him, slashing his face over and over with her claws until nothing remained but a bloody mess of mangled meat with the white glint of bone peeking through the crimson muddle.

***

Nathan and the rest of the posse came running in from around both corners of the house, converging where Louis stood, paralyzed with fear. O’Rouke and Nathan closed in from the right; the old man, Buck, along with a kid named Henson, came in from the left. Nathan popped off a shot from the Colt in his hand as he ran. The round struck the woman’s forehead squarely between her eyes, scattering her brains to the wind. She teetered over Hank’s corpse, then collapsed onto it, covering the gruesome visage with the thick fabric of her black dress.

O’Rouke wasn’t taking any chances after seeing the carnage around him. He marched up to Eliza’s remains and emptied his revolver into her unmoving form, just to make sure she stayed down. The woman’s body twitched as each bullet tore into the dead flesh, but otherwise, she didn’t move. O’Rouke flipped open his pistol’s chamber and dumped the empty cartridges onto the ground. “What in the Hell is she?” he demanded as he reloaded.

Nathan looked sick. “We’re too late. He’ll be in Reaper’s Valley by now.”

“
What do you mean too late?” Louis asked, dreading the answer.

Nathan closed his eyes and whispered a prayer, then told the remaining members of the posse, “It’s begun.”

Twelve

Michael Clark sat at the poker table with a blankness to his expression learned through years of practice. The man across from him wore the fine suit of a banker and was undoubtedly a shrewd businessman from the amount of money he had to risk. His skill did not apply to cards, and he was not very good at poker. Michael intended to take the good banker’s money throughout the course of the game.

Michael had spotted the businessman’s “tell” by the second deal of the evening. The hand they held now would decide the final victor of the game and Michael knew he’d already won when he saw the man scratch at his thin, waxed mustache.

The gambler was about to call the banker’s bluff when, somewhere in the darkness outside of the saloon, a man screamed. The cry was more than one of pain. Pure, torturous terror resonated within the howling shriek.

Aside from Michael and his opponent, there were three other patrons in the saloon, along with the evening’s compliment of dancers and whores. Pete, the owner, reached beneath the bar and produced a double barreled shotgun as the other men scrambled to their feet and left their tables. As the crowd moved towards the main entrance’s swinging doors to see what was happening, Michael made use of the distraction. He swept the pot from the table into his pockets and crept deeper into the saloon, searching for its rear exit. A young woman with brown hair and a worn dress bumped into him as she emerged from the back of the building.

“
May I help you?” she asked as another scream cut through the still night air out in front of the saloon, followed promptly by the sound of a shotgun being discharged.

Michael put on his best smile. “I believe you can. I was attempting to find a less crowded route of escape from this establishment.”

The young woman, who he thought he remembered was named Beth from his earlier transactions at the bar, was focued on the commotion outside. “What’s happening?” she asked him, standing on her tippy toes to peer over his shoulder.

“
Don’t reckon I care to know, ma’am. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, tipping his hat. As he tried to push by her, Michael found himself staring into the tiny barrels of a Derringer. Beth appraised him coolly. “I think you’re about to care,” she informed him. “Tell me what’s happening out there?” she demanded, pressing the pistol into his gut.

“
I don’t know, ma’am, but I think it’s time we both hit the trail.”

A chorus of screams rang out as pistols cracked and a shotgun thundered again. The crowd at the door, the ones who hadn’t ventured outside, turned in a panic and fled towards them. A dancer darted by with tears flowing from her eyes and a stricken look of horror contorting her face as she raced for the stairs.

The saloon’s small outer doors swooshed apart as a mangled corpse was hurled inside. It landed on the floor, its head cracking wide open on the wooden slats. A puddle of red wetness grew around the dead man, staining the sawdust. Michael and Beth watched as a trio of creatures came bounding inside in search of the crowd. Two of them had once been men. Their skin was leathery and held a greenish, sick hue. Long razor-like nails sprouted from the tips of their fingers and their eyes glowed yellow with hatred and anger.

The third of the grotesque pack was a woman. Most of her hair and half of her face were gone, as if someone had blasted a shotgun into her at point blank range, leaving a hollowed-out crater where her cheek had once been. The woman leaned back her head and snarled like a mad dog, revealing rows of dagger-like teeth.

“
Holy...” Michael started, but Beth poked him in the ribs with her gun.

“
This ain’t the time to be takin’ the good Lord’s name in vain,” she corrected him. “We need all the help we can get. ”

One of the creatures launched itself up the wall to the open area of the saloon’s second floor, covering the distance in two leaps of its powerful legs. The female creature’s glowing golden eyes fell on Michael and Beth.

“
This way!” Beth shouted as she tugged Michael into the rear portion of the bar where she and her pa lived. The gambler followed her down a short hallway and into a room that was half a kitchen and half a bedroom. Beth closed the room’s heavy door and threw a thick piece of wood across it to keep it in place. “That ain’t gonna hold her,” Michael warned. The door rocked in its frame and the wooden flat barring the entrance cracked from the pressure, barely staying together.

“
You got a gun, mister?” Beth yelled. Michael nodded dumbly, drawing a revolver from underneath his jacket. “Then shoot her!” Beth screamed at him.

The woman slammed into the door again, and this time, it flew inward. Michael raised his gun and fired as she leapt at them. His shot wasn’t aimed, but God was with them and the bullet impacted with the woman’s skull, snapping her head back at an unnatural angle. The woman collapsed. Blood leaked from the hole in her head. “Is she dead?” Michael sputtered.

Beth kicked the limp body. “I think so. Don’t matter none, though. There’s two more of them.”

Beth looked at the pieces of the shattered door. “We can’t stay here. Besides, we got find my pa,” she said. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. “He’s stuck out there with those monsters!”

With the immediate danger passed, Michael was beginning to get his nerves and emotions under control. “Your pa is dead,” he said, his voice flat.

Beth whirled on him, moving in so close the Derringer’s barrels dented his gut as she poked it into him again. Tears streaked down her face and her cheeks were red with anger. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t know if he’s dead any more than I do,” she snapped.

“
Alright,” Michael soothed, staying as still as he could until she removed the Derringer from his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“
Nothing to be sorry for,” Beth said quietly. “He ain’t dead yet and neither are we.” She started for the door, but Michael caught her by the shoulder.

“
Wait, let me go first,” he requested. “That little gun of yours is just going to make them angrier than they already are.”

Thirteen

O ld man Patrick lay with his face pressed into the dirt of the space between Pete’s saloon and the general store next door to it. He swore that if he lived through this horrible turn of events, he was gonna change his life forever. He’d give up drinking, be in church every Sunday, and he might even stop yelling at his wife, Margret.

As far as he could tell, everyone else was either dead or changed into one of them...them things. They were something straight outta Hell; he was sure of it—wasn’t nothing on this Earth like them. One of them popped its head around the corner of the general store and peered into the darkness where he lay.