The Accomplice (29 page)

Saying those words at that time was less necessary than telling a bird to flap its wings when it flew. Once the front window had shattered, practically everyone had jumped to their feet. By this time, there was already a stampede for the side door with Thirsty leading the charge.

Scrambling to his feet, Caleb dashed behind the bar to where he kept the box of spare shotgun shells. As he reloaded, he saw the flames licking around the edge of the broken window frame. Fortunately, the fire wasn’t spreading much past the window.

“Looks like that last bottle didn’t make it through,” Hank said.

“That just means the outside of my saloon is on fire rather than the inside.”

“Considering what side of the wall we’re on, I’m willing to accept that.”

Closing the newly loaded shotgun, Caleb gave Hank a quick nod. “Good point. Catch.” With that, he tossed the shotgun toward the barkeep.

Hank caught it and swung its barrel toward the burning window. “What about you?”

“I’ll do just fine,” Caleb replied as he reached for the holster hanging behind the bar. “Serves me right for not wearing this damn thing.” The moment he got the holster buckled around his waist, Caleb felt that knot in his stomach finally loosen up. He drew the old Smith & Wesson, took position next to Hank, and watched the window for the first sign of movement.

“We can’t wait here for long,” Hank said anxiously. “This place is still burning.”

“You’re right. Stay here, and I’ll head out first.” Without waiting for a reply, Caleb ran for the window so he could take a quick look at the damage that had been done.

There was a fair amount of smoke billowing into the saloon, but the window was wide enough for Caleb to see the street beyond the flames. By the look of it, the fire was still confined to the part of the wall that had been wetted by liquor. The early evening breeze was still relatively calm, so there wasn’t much else to fan the flames.

The next sound to fill the Busted Flush wasn’t from gunfire or another burst of flame. It was the slam of the front door being kicked in.

With the door still rattling on its hinges, the gunman who’d tossed the bricks reached inside to lob something else into the saloon. This bottle wasn’t as big as the others, but it shattered just as well against the bar, and its contents ignited, thanks to the flaming rag stuffed down its neck.

Reflexively, Caleb turned and fired at the door as flames worked their way up the side of his bar. The pistol bucked against his palm again and again as he sent round after round toward the bastard who’d tossed in that most recent bottle.

Since the gunman had delivered his package, the bullets were whipping past his head and the fires were growing hotter by the second. Rather than trade shots with the saloon’s owner, he jumped back out the same way he’d come in.

Caleb didn’t think about the fires burning around him or the guns filling the air with blazing lead. Instead, he stomped toward the door with a fire of his own burning deep inside his chest.

The moment Caleb stepped outside, he heard a shot blast through the air. A bullet whipped past him, punching out a chunk of the doorframe along the way. While Caleb twitched away from the shot, it was only so he could snap his own hand up and pull his trigger. He didn’t come close to hitting either of the two gunmen outside but managed to force them back a few steps.

“You’re through in this town!” one of the gunmen said as the other ducked behind some cover. “If you survive this night, we’ll just have to come back some other—”

The threat was cut short by a single shot from Caleb’s revolver. It cracked through the air, drilled a hole through the gunman’s face, and exploded out the back of his head. For a moment, the gunman just stood where he was, still holding his weapon as if he meant to take another shot. Then, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he dropped to the ground and crumpled into a lifeless heap.

“Where’s your friend?” Caleb asked as he walked over to the twitching body.

The sounds of the approaching fire brigade were growing louder by the second, but Caleb didn’t even notice them. He was walking farther into the street and searching for any trace of the third gunman. What caught his eye was a flicker of light from across the way and a few doors down.

That third gunman was kneeling behind a trough with another bottle in one hand and a sputtering match in the other. His face was twisted in an anxious grimace as his eyes darted back and forth between Caleb and the bodies of his partners.

The moment Caleb saw him, he raised his pistol and sighted along the barrel.

“No!” the other man shouted. “Here, see?” With a trembling smile, he stood up and dropped the bottle into the trough. “It’s all over.”

“Not yet, it isn’t,” Caleb snarled as he pulled his trigger.

The Smith & Wesson bucked and trimmed a piece of meat from the remaining gunman’s neck.

It wasn’t a mortal wound by any stretch, but it was more than enough to catch the gunman’s attention. He nearly jumped out of his boots as he felt the lead tear away a piece of skin before chipping the post behind him.

Dropping behind the trough, the gunman was just quick enough to get his own weapon in hand.

Caleb aimed at a spot where he would only have to shoot through one side of the trough to get to his man. He squeezed his trigger the instant he had his sights lined up.

The Smith & Wesson was empty. Judging by the smile on the gunman’s face as he rolled away from that trough, he knew that much even before Caleb did.

The gunman hopped to his feet with confidence. Taking his time to walk a few steps forward while taking careful aim, he sighted along his barrel and tightened his finger around his trigger.

A gunshot blasted through the air, only it came from behind Caleb rather than in front of him. Instead of feeling hot lead rip through his body, Caleb got a whiff of burnt powder and the sight of the gunman being knocked clean off of his feet.

Still holding the Smith & Wesson as if it could actually do him any good, Caleb wheeled around to get a look behind him. “Jesus Christ,” he said as he lowered his weapon. “You damn near scared the life out of me.”

Hank didn’t even respond to Caleb. His eyes were fixed upon the dying gunman, and his hands were wrapped around the smoking shotgun.

After letting out a few more pained gasps, the third gunman gave up the ghost and went limp.

“Easy, Hank,” Caleb said as he moved to the older man’s side. “It’s all over. The fire brigade is here.”

Hank’s face was haunted by what he’d done. His eyes were locked on the gunman’s body, and his breathing was so shallow that it was hard to tell if any air was even making it into his lungs.

“You hear me?” Caleb asked. “It’s over. They’re gone. You saved my life.”

“But . . . the Flush. It’s . . .”

“The fire brigade is here,” Caleb repeated. “Look for yourself.”

Hank glanced over to see the fire brigade arriving amid a flurry of shouting voices and clanging bells.

“There’s not many of them,” Hank said.

Caleb pushed the shotgun down so none of the approaching men would get the wrong idea. “Luckily for us, it’s not much of a fire.”

“Usually, they come running like a stampede at the first trace of smoke,” Hank said. “Where’s the rest of them?”

Caleb saw the barkeep’s point. The fire inside the saloon was limited to a section along the top of the bar while the flames outside were still mostly around the alcohol-soaked window. The brigade got right to work, and Caleb stayed out of their way as he stepped up to the man who appeared to be in charge.

The man leading the brigade was in his late thirties and had close-cropped dark hair. His skin seemed to have been permanently tinted a darker color thanks to all the smoke that had been smudged on it over the years. “Looks like you’ve had the same trouble as them others,” the brigade leader said.

“What others?” Caleb asked.

The man’s only response was to wave down Main Street before rushing in to give his men a hand with their buckets. Hank and a few of the regular customers had started adding their muscle to the mix as well.

Although Caleb wanted to pitch in to save his saloon, he couldn’t help but be distracted by the sight a few blocks down Main Street. In that direction, black smoke filled the sky like a fierce storm that had been brewed directly over the corner of Main and Market.

The streets in that area were filled with what had to be the rest of the fire brigade as well as a few reserve wagons. The sky was almost completely blotted out by the smoke and roaring flames that reached upward as if threatening to burn down the gates of heaven. It wasn’t even one single building on fire, but several of them. As Caleb watched, he could see new gouts of flame bursting to life amid the sound of shattering glass.

Doc had been on his way to his office when he’d heard the loud explosion behind him. He was just about to cross Austin Street when the blast rocked through the city like God stomping his foot in a fit of rage. For a moment, Doc couldn’t hear a thing. Then his ears were filled with the sounds of screams, cracking wood, and breaking glass. He could also hear the crackle of gunshots coming from farther down the street, but those were the least of his worries at that moment.

Going against the tide of people trying to run from the fire, Doc headed straight for it. Sure enough, his first instinct was proven correct, and Thompson’s Varieties was at the center of the blaze. Doc could feel the heat on his face as he ran toward the saloon. The flames were brighter than the sun as they reached up through broken windows to lick the surrounding buildings.

Reaching out to grab hold of one of the men fleeing from Thompson’s, Doc had to shout to be heard. “What happened?”

Turning to get a look at the fire, the man shook his head as if he thought he might be in a dream. “I don’t know what happened. I was having a drink, and suddenly all hell broke loose.”

“Is there anyone else inside?”

“We all started running after the blast. The ones that didn’t were either killed flat out or are dead now.”

Doc looked around to find people gathered on the street, gazing in shock at the burning building. Suddenly, his own eyes grew wide, and his breath sped from his lungs. From where he was standing, he could see the fire had already spread to other buildings. One of those buildings on the other end of that same block was the one Dr. Seegar was still using as his office.

“Oh my God,” Doc said as he shoved through the stragglers working their way from Thompson’s.

“Are you crazy?” the man shouted to Doc’s back. “You’ll be killed if you go that way!”

Taking a quick look over his shoulder, Doc spotted a group of wagons barreling straight toward the inferno. “The fire brigade is almost here. Tell them to send help after me. It looks like the fire’s already spreading.”

“Tell them yourself! Get back here!”

But Doc had already turned his back on the man and was running down Market Street.

Instead of following the street, Doc followed a trail made of crackling flame. That trail separated itself from the rest of the blaze to run along the lower sections of each and every building on the same block as Thompson’s Varieties. At times, the fiery trail dipped down to the boardwalk before jumping back onto the next building. It made Doc think of the Devil walking down the street, running the tip of his finger along the shops, restaurants, and storefronts, leaving fire and brimstone in his wake.

Looking farther down the street, he could see buildings that hadn’t yet been touched by the Devil. Then, in front of his eyes, those buildings went up in flame just like all the others.

People dashed out of their doors as the fire jumped from one structure to another. Most of the buildings were of the older variety and went up like kindling. Even the newer ones lit up as if they’d been constructed of dry leaves.

As Doc sped up in a futile attempt to try to get ahead of the fire, he caught his first whiff of kerosene. Seconds later, he spotted the one man who stood and watched the spreading fire the way a child watched fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Gritting his teeth, Doc ran faster until he felt his lungs burning in his chest. His fists were clenched, and his eyes were fixed upon Grissom’s gnarled, grinning face.

As Doc got closer to him, Grissom turned and opened his arms as if to embrace Doc like a brother.

“You son of a bitch,” Doc snarled as he threw himself at Grissom. “You did this!”

Grissom reeked of kerosene. He caught Doc and pivoted on his heels to toss the narrow-framed dentist to one side. “You’re damn right I did this! I’d say this is the best piece of work I’ve ever done! Even tops the October fire. Your friend Seegar won’t escape this one.”

Doc tried to keep himself from falling, but he’d put too much steam behind his first charge to remain upright. Even as his hands scraped against the rocky soil and his knees pounded against the ground, he didn’t feel a bit of pain. All he could think about was getting up again.

Grissom watched with amusement. The scarred skin of his face twisted like an ugly mask that had been partially melted in the sun. “I set more fires than I can count. They’s all a thing of beauty. You’d see that if you just settled down and took a look for yourself.”

Rather than admire Grissom’s handiwork, Doc strained to see farther down the street. The moment he saw smoke billowing up from the end of the block where Dr. Seegar worked, Doc scrambled to get moving again.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Grissom said as he reached out to grab hold of Doc’s jacket. “I said for you to watch this with me, an’ that’s just what you’re gonna do.”

Like most everyone else who didn’t know better, Grissom assumed that Doc’s slender build and pale complexion meant he was weak. He was shown the error of his ways soon enough when Doc wheeled around to send a vicious right hook into Grissom’s chin.