Grey noted that she used the past tense. Had. It was a sign that she was accepting certain realities, but it also broke his heart.
“He did,” agreed Brother Joe, “and he was a God-fearing man. If he wasn’t in church every Sunday I have no doubt he was abroad doing good in this world. He was like that. And yet the abomination we saw last night could not have been him. Not completely. The Lucky Bob I knew would never willingly do harm to innocents, nor would he consort with those who would. This is why I believe that he was murdered and that a demon has stolen his body. This is a sin against God and against the memory of a good and decent man.”
The words hit Jenny like a series of blows, and her anger crumbled beneath the pummeling. She hung her head. However Grey saw that the young woman’s fists were balled at her side. Overwhelmed by grief, to be certain, but ready to exact a terrible revenge.
He found it all extremely — and strangely — exciting. What a woman.
“Clarify something for me, old chap,” said Looks Away, “there were quite a lot of those monsters out there. How many were Harrowed and how many were simply nimble corpses?”
“I can’t say for certain,” admitted the monk, “but it is most likely that Lucky Bob was the only Harrowed. The rest were demons.”
“Are the souls of the dead still in there?” asked Jenny, her eyes wide with fear.
Brother Joe shook his head. “No. For most of them… only the demon wears their flesh. If they speak or act like the person that they were, it’s because the demon can still read the memories in their brain. Unlike the Harrowed, they are pure evil. Destroy the brain and the demon loses its hold on the flesh and they flee back to hell. The body, which was merely a disguise of flesh, merely dies.”
“Well, that’s something,” said Grey. “It simplifies things.”
“Does it?” asked Looks Away.
“No, but it felt good to say it.”
The Sioux shook his head. “White men.”
The monk said, “I myself have heard stories about some of these Harrowed working for the rail barons, fighting in the War Between the States, and even riding as agents for the Texas Rangers and the Pinkerton Agency. It is frightening to think that so many of them may be among us…”
“Hold on,” said Grey, shaking his head, “none of this explains what we saw last night. What about the pieces of ghost rock in the chests of those other things, the undead slaves. I admit I don’t know as much about possession as you do, Brother, but I never heard about that.”
“Nor have I,” admitted the monk. “I can only speculate that some dark rite was performed on this ghost rock itself. Ghost rock is the Devil’s creation so it would make a fine receptacle for some unholy spell. Some even say ghost rock itself is made of damned souls. We’ve all heard the tormented screams that issue from it when burned and—.”
Jenny swiped angrily at the fresh tears in her eyes, but she said nothing.
Looks Away pursed his lips for a moment. “I admit that after last night I’m more inclined to accept a preternatural explanation for things. For some things. However I have had some experience with ghost rock and with the reanimation of the dead. Doctor Saint and his colleague, Mr. Nobel, agreed that there was some kind of chemical reaction resulting from an explosion of the mineral that temporarily restored life to the recently dead. They reasoned that because those people had been dead for too long, with the resulting deprivation of oxygen to their brains, when they reanimated they were hysterical and mentally deranged. We did not view this as having any connection to matters of a spiritual nature.”
“That was then,” said Grey. “Where do you stand now?”
“Quite frankly? On very shaky ground, old chap. I wish we understood more about these blighters,” said Looks Away.
“We know how to kill them,” said Grey grimly. “A head shot seems to do it for the bulk of these bastards. But tell me, Joe, what about the Harrowed? How do we kill them? I mean, what happens if we shoot them in the head?” He was careful not to mention Lucky Bob by name, but Jenny still gave him an evil glare.
“That is the only thing the demons truly fear,” said the monk. “If they enter such an individual, then they are bound to the flesh. If you kill the body by destroying the brain, the Harrowed dies, too.”
“But…,” began Jenny, then she took a breath and asked the dreaded question, “what happens to the soul of that dead person?”
The monk shook his head. “I… don’t know. I wish I had an answer, I wish I could speak comfort to you, Jenny, but we do not know. And this is something the brothers of my order would dearly love to know. Because if the soul of the undead are released and allowed to fly to the arms of Jesus, then we would offer no objection at all to men like Grey and Looks Away doing whatever they had to do. Instead of breaking the commandment against murder.”
“I thought all killing was anathema to you clerical blokes?” said Looks Away.
Brother Joe smiled wanly. “Have you ever read the Old Testament? Achan was put to death by Joshua because he caused the defeat of Israel’s army by taking some of the plunder and hiding it in his tent. David had an Amalekite put to death because he claimed to have killed King Saul. And Solomon ordered the death of Joab. No, my brother, there is so much blood written into the pages of our holy book. But we are told by God not to commit murder — the wanton act of killing.”
“Wait, wait,” said Grey, “let’s stick on that point for a minute. Jenny’s right. If we killed the Harrowed, or even the lesser undead, are we doing some kind of spiritual harm to the possessed, or are we setting them free to go on to Jesus? Or whatever you want to call it.”
“As I said,” explained Brother Joe, “I simply do not know.”
That stopped them all, and for several painful moments they could do nothing but look at each other and weigh the events of last night against their fears.
“You’re sure my pa got away?” asked Jenny in a small, fragile voice.
“I am,” Looks Away assured her.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, Looksie, would you?”
“No, my dear, I would not.” He bent and kissed her on the forehead. “And I thank whatever Gods may be that Doctor Saint’s gun burned itself out before I could take that shot. Let’s call it the hand of providence for now.”
Jenny kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
They began walking again.
Looks Away trailed behind them, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed, chin resting thoughtfully on his chest. Grey glanced over his shoulder at him. “You got that gun contraption from Doctor Saint’s lab?”
“Mmm? Oh, yes,” said Looks Away absently. “But as I said, it’s ruined now and—.”
“He have anything else in there?”
The Sioux stopped and sucked a tooth while he thought about it. “Quite frankly, my dear chap, I don’t really have a clue what all is in there. The good doctor has most of his equipment locked up and I don’t have all the keys. It’s his private workshop and I was only an assistant.”
“Can’t we break the locks?” asked Jenny.
Looks Away shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare. Doctor Saint is—.”
“—not here,” she interrupted. “We are.”
They stopped in the street and he half-smiled. “Doctor Saint has been very generous and supportive to the people in this town,” said Looks Away. “Some of what’s in his lab is the result of years of his work.”
Jenny pointed to the cemetery. “Then you go tell those people that we can’t help because we’re being too damned polite. Explain to them that good manners forbids us to check to see if there’s a weapon or two in Saint’s lab that might help us. Tell the parents of all those men who you killed last night — all those undead — that their sons died in vain but it’s okay, they’ll get to join them soon because you’re too bloody British for your own good.”