The sun was fully up now, and a wave of light washed down the street. When it struck the man at the saloon door, he let out a little shriek. Wisps of smoke curled up from the top of his head and hands.
The man tugged harder at the door latch.
His arm came off at the shoulder and out of his sleeve. The hand still clutched the latch firmly, and the arm jutted outbloodless and white.
The man stood looking at it for a moment, then he pried it loose with his free hand and put it in the deep pocket of his coat. It stuck out of the pocket from elbow to nub.
The man began to hasten up the street. He tried every door he came to.
Finally he moved into the middle of the street and fell face down.
The Reverend raced downstairs.
II
The Reverend ran over to the fallen man and bent down. The body was smoking. The arm that was sticking out of the coat pocket was wilting like a limp dick. It finally puddled into the coat pocket and onto the street.
The Reverend, not eager about it, reached out and touched the gambler's neck for a pulse.
There wasn't any. The Reverend startled at how strange the flesh felt. He pulled his hand back and looked at it. Putrid smelling flesh clung to his fingertips like mold. He quickly wiped it off in the dirt.
A hand reached down and grabbed the Reverend by the shoulder, surprising him.
The Reverend wheeled, standing as he did. His hand went for his constant companion: the Navy revolver in his sash.
The revolver was suddenly out, cocked, and planted against the nose of the elderly man he had seen in the cafe with the beautiful woman who reminded him of his sister. And the woman herself stood nearby, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
"Whoa!" the elderly man said. "We're good Samaritans like yourself. We saw him fall.
Lord, but you're fast."
The Reverend lifted the gun from the old man's face and uncocked it. As the old
man dipped from view to examine the body, the Reverend had a full look at the woman. She was even more beautiful than he had thought. The Lord just kept throwing her at him.
He turned to look at the old man, who, like the Reverend, had touched the body and was wiping his fingers in the dirt.
"Damndest thing I've seen," the old man said. "He smells as if he's been dead a week."
"He was walking," the Reverend said crisply.
"Don't mess yourself, son. I know that. I said we saw him fall."
The body had gone to hell now. It was smoking and parts of it had collapsed inside the clothes. The head had lost a lot of flesh but was mostly intact. But now the skull itself was starting to bubble.
The old man stood up. "Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back." He ran across the street to the doctor's office.
"A little late for that," the Reverend called, but the old man ignored him.
"He's the doctor," the woman said.
The Reverend glanced at her, then back to the old man who was unlocking the doctor's office and going inside.
"He's also my father."
The Reverend turned aroundfound he could only say, "Oh." He was staring at the woman, and he could not help it. It seemed impossible for him to make his eyes look away.
The doctor returned. He was pushing a wheelbarrow, and handed one shovel to the Reverend.
"What's this for?" the Reverend said, pushing his Navy into his waistband and holding the shovel with his other hand.
"Shovel him into the wheelbarrow, fellowand try not to get too much dirt with him,"
the doctor said.
The doctor scooped up a shovelful of the flesh that had oozed out of the dead man's collarflesh that had once been a neck. The body was really in bad shape now, and only the skull remained solid, though it was now devoid of hair and fleshthat lay in a prickly puddle about the skull. Flies swarmed all over the gooey stuff like raisins on pudding.
The Reverend, hesitating only slightly, began to scoop up the dead man and toss him into the wheelbarrow.
III
The doctor waved the flies off the mess and wheeled the wheelbarrow full of globby man-parts and stained suit into his office. Behind him came the Reverend and his daughter.
They moved through a waiting room, down a short hall, and turned right. Inside it was dark. The doctor lit a lamp and turned up the wick. The room was a lab. There was a long table in its center. There were racks on the walls, and the racks were filled with glass canisters, test tubes, and the like. Some of the glassware contained colorful liquids. On a table next to the wall was a microscope and all manner of instruments. The windows were curtained with dark blue cloth. You couldn't tell if it was day or night outside.
The doctor saw the Reverend looking around.
"I like it cozy," the doctor said. "I didn't get your name."
"Reverend Jebidiah Mercer. Pardon me if I don't shake hands."
"I feel the same. You can wash over at that basin. This is my daughter, Abby, and I'm Doc Peekner. Most folks just call me Doc."
"Good to meet you," the Reverend said, then thought of the circumstances of their meeting and felt silly. "You ever see anything like this before, Doc?"