Twitch and Die!

Ch.16: Blood Cry

After cleaning the wound the best he could, McCutchen wrapped his shoulder tight and dropped his left arm in a sling. Without time to enjoy it, he emptied a can of beans, swallowed some dried fruit and nuts and finally tore off a piece of jerky to chew as he gathered the scattered pages of Doc Quick’s letters.

He’d only just unbundled them when Lipscomb had taken the shot. Now they were completely out of order. The same people who had wanted him to eradicate the infected had tried to have him killed before he could read them. So they must be worth a look, and sooner than later.

Sitting with his back against the same tree under which he and Doc had, in turn, proposed to their wives, he took a deep breath and stared across the familiar scenery. A cluster of buzzards spiraled around a thermal over the valley. Maybe they’d find Lipscomb yet, bled out at the bottom. But he doubted it.

He tugged a blanket over his shoulders and started with a letter dated December 15th—the day his father had died.

Dearest Dot,

John McCutchen showed up this morning. J.T. brought the old man in over his shoulder, asking for me by name. He flashed his irons, and the Company chose to send for me rather than shoot it out in the lobby. But they warned me that they would reconsider if I tried anything funny. Funny? What the hell could I find funny about any of this?

It broke my heart, Dot. John was almost gone already. J.T. had done what he could to comfort the old man. Crossed a couple of check points to get him to the hospital, which must have been no small deed. Damn if every time I see the boy I don’t experience the grief of our Elizabeth’s murder all over. I can see it in his eyes too. After sixteen years as a Ranger I know he’s got other ghosts to haunt him, but Liz was the first. Like you were for me.

Doc had been journaling to his dead wife via letter for years. McCutchen had once done the same with Elizabeth. It had helped, for a stint. He skipped ahead. He already knew what happened next and needed to read about it less than he needed another bullet hole. The last paragraph read,

It’s a shit world, Dot, and everything’s come out sideways. There ain’t nothing but to take what’s left and get clear. But when a man ain’t got nothing left, what then? You and I both know I’ve been there, and that the devil knows me by name. Well, J.T.’s there now, and poke me in the eye if I’m lying, but I fear for the devil.

Quincy

Doc was wrong. McCutchen had his ideals, his convictions. If the devil got in the way, it was his own damn fault. He flipped to the next page. It was dated December 24th, less than 48 hours before McCutchen had snuck into the hospital to find Doc cleared out. The handwriting was slanted and rushed.

Dot,

I feel like I’m forgetting something. But what? I’ve gotten too damn old for this. The T is ready. I pray word got to Isabella, and I’ll see her and Abby soon.

I’m prepared to euthanize the remainder of my patients, all save Gayle. She’s calmed in the last few days. Dammit, I might be wrong, but I think she’s trying to communicate with me. She flashes her yellow eyes and sniffs the air every time I come near, like an old hound. I swear she smells my emotions.

Anyway, the last thing I see might be her teeth chewing my eyes like cow fries, but I’m gonna let her go. She knows something, and whatever the hell it is, it’s given her a shred of humanity to hold onto. I don’t want to make too much out of it, but I found a piece of paper beneath her table. Damned if I know how she got it. But she’d scrawled something on it with her own blood. Maybe I’m not in my right mind, so I’m keeping it with these letters. Let someone else decide if it says what I think it says.