“And you, Marshal Trent. You’ve tasted blood. Can you not stop until you have tasted theirs?”
Trent thought a moment. He hadn’t talked this much… ever. “You may be right… but I’d like to think I’m still a fair man and will listen to reason. Except for one person.”
He knew the preacher was thinking of the raiders, and possibly Pagan Reeves, but Trent was thinking of the mysterious killer.
“I’m curious. What possessed you to take such a job?”
He snapped back to the present and grinned ruefully at the reverend. “Now, I’ve thought about that. I have to tell you. If God made me do this, then I wish He’d left me alone. My way has always been to let others do as they want, as long as they didn’t bother me. Somehow, that isn’t good enough anymore. I guess, when it comes right down to it, there just wasn’t anyone else around to do the job.”
The Reverend shook his head. “The Commandment says thou shalt not kill, Mr. Trent.”
“See, there you go again, thinking you’re the only one who’s ever read a book. The original translation in the Greek says thou shalt not commit murder. There’s a world of difference in that. It wasn’t until modern times that the clergy changed the wording to kill.”
“And you think that distinction absolves you from the responsibility of your killing? The premeditation?”
He had to think on that one a moment. The Reverend seemed content to wait. Finally… “No, I don’t. When you strap on a gun, you strap on the responsibility that goes with it. A gun is a tool, used to save lives, as well as take them, Reverend. Your problem is, everything has to be black or white. Unfortunately for you, we live in a world of grey.”
“There is only right and wrong, Mr. Trent.”
He replied sadly, with genuine regret. He knew that the two of them would never agree. “Then I envy you your clarity, Reverend Stephens, however shortsighted it is.”
Both men turned as Katie came out of the house, looking fresh and vibrant. Every time Trent saw her, she looked more beautiful. “I think you two have about beat that subject to death, don’t you?”
Reverend Stephens turned to him. “I must go to the church, Mr. Trent, but I want you to know something. I love my daughter very much. I don’t want to see her hurt, and I cannot see how you could do anything else but hurt her.” The man smiled. “It’s been an experience talking to you.”
As he went down the steps, Trent spoke. “When you think about it, Reverend, you may realize we are on the same side.”
The man didn’t stop walking. “I can’t imagine that, Mr. Trent.” He continued toward the church, a tall man in a black coat, his back unbending to age—or differing opinion.
As they stood on the porch, Katie studied his face, her eyes dark and serious. “Now this is a side of you I didn’t expect. I thought you were eloquent with my father.”
“Your father isn’t a bad man, Katherine. He just has tunnel vision. Our only difference is a matter of viewpoint.”
It was then they heard the yelling. Young Tommy came tearing around the house, cutting under the reins of the horse. The animal reared and nearly broke free from the rail. Trent moved quickly to calm the horse. “Marshal, you got to come quick. Somebody went by the Clark’s house, and them people are all dead. The whole bunch of them are dead. Folks are saying it’s the plague.” Not waiting for a reply, the boy was off and running again, looking for the next place to tell his news.
He sighed and looked at her. “I’d better go, Katie. Most people wouldn’t know plague if it bit them on the ass.”
“Not without me, you don’t. I’ll be just a minute.”
10
As Trent and Katie rode up to the cabin that sat well back in the woods, a small crowd of people gathered in front and silently parted to let them through.
He heard someone say the people died of the plague, and he stopped and looked around at them. “Would any of you know plague if you saw it?” Everyone looked at him silently. He could see fear in their eyes, and he wondered why they were here, if they thought plague had returned. “I want everyone to stay back. You’re tromping up the ground where there may be tracks that I need to look at.”
Being hill people, this was something they understood and they backed slowly away.
As he went up the steps, he spoke quietly. “Stay outside Katie, unless I call for you. Let me know if the crowd acts up.”
At her nod of assent, he went through the open door. He could see straight through to the kitchen, and saw the bodies. In no hurry to get there, he treated the house as he’d treat a trail he was trying to figure out in the forest.
Quietly, he looked through all the rooms of the small house, his passage known only by an occasional squeaking board in the tongue and grooved floor.
He wandered through a rumpled bedroom full of homemade toys and piles of clothes. The other rooms were equally in disarray, not surprising with small children running about. Long lines of meat adorned the back porch, cut into thin strips and dried for jerky. He paused to smell the meat, thinking it might be a source of trouble. Finally, he stepped from the dirty back porch into the room he’d been avoiding.
All the family was around the kitchen table. He’d purposefully saved this room for last. There was no hurry. It was obvious that they were dead. He was old enough to know something about plague—at least enough to know this wasn’t it. Plague takes awhile, following the usual course of one person being infected, then spreading it to others. Even the new viral strains that cropped up during The Fall weren’t this quick, at least none he’d heard of. Whatever had killed this family had gone full course in a matter of minutes.
Finally, he did what he had put off for so long. He looked at the Clark family, individually… personally. The man and woman were both young and healthy looking. The woman had fallen forward onto the table, one arm outstretched toward the baby, and the man had fallen out of his chair onto his left side. The baby, about nine months old and sitting in a homemade highchair, looked like it was asleep. He stood there, absently brushing back a lock of wispy hair on the baby’s head. At a small noise, he glanced up and saw Katie watching him from the door, tears in her eyes. Looking at the table full of food, he knew it had to be something they ate, or the water they drank. The house was much too drafty to harbor any poisonous fumes or gas, and he knew of no mines around that would produce any noxious gasses. And there were no wounds on them. Seeing a pot of stew on the wood stove formed a question in his mind.
He found the answer in the trash under the sink. Several empty cans of prepared beef stew. The cans were green with corrosion, and had to be pre-Fall. How stupid could they have been? The food in those cans was spoiled. He knew from experience the toxin from bacteria growing in food was virulent and quick, sometimes making a poison of its own. They probably just warmed the stew enough to eat, and hadn’t cooked it long enough to kill the bacteria. He’d seen the same thing in the jungles of Central America. And the same thing here.
“What’d you find?” The voice boomed loudly in the room.
His head cracked against the bottom of the sink. Cursing, rubbing his head, and pushing down the urge to go for his gun—he looked up. “Who let you in, Murdock?”
The big woman held up her black bag. “I go anywhere, Trent.”
“Next time, hum a tune or something. You shouldn’t sneak up on a man like that. I’ve never seen someone so big be so quiet.”