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 around—found 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, fellow—and 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 collar—flesh 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 flesh—that 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?"
Doc shook his head.
"Could it be some form of leprosy, Dad?" Abby asked.
"No. Nothing like that.... God, will you look at this mess? This man looks to have been dead for weeks, but we know better. We all saw him walking."
"If it's some kind of disease," the Reverend said, "we could all have it."
"Not me," Abby said. "You touched him—you and Dad—not me."
"Concerned, isn't she?" Doc said. "Here, wash your hands over there. I've got some chemicals I can pour on them too."
The Reverend did as he was told. Abby poured fresh water from a pitcher into a basin for him. When he finished and toweled dry, Doc poured the chemicals over his hands and he let them air dry.
"All right," Doc said. "Why don't you two make yourself comfortable in the office there.
Have some coffee. I'm going to put this mess on the table, wash up, and join you."
"Sure you won't need any help, Dad?" Abby asked.
"I'm sure."
Abby and the Reverend left the room and went to the front where Abby built a small fire in the wood stove for coffee. She opened the office door to neutralize the heat with the outside air, but even though it was early morning, it was already hot and didn't help much.
As she poured water and scooped coffee, the Reverend noticed that, for all her aplomb, her hand was shaking ever so slightly. He mentioned it.
"You found me out," she said. "I thought I had a constant professional air."
The Reverend held up his hand. It quivered ever so slightly. "You're not the only one."
She smiled. It was a very nice smile.
"I've been around death since I was a child " Abby said. "It was inevitable with my father, a doctor, that I would be exposed to it. I've been his nurse since I was in my teens. I was on hand when my mother caught the fever, and we labored to save her and couldn't—but I've never seen anything like today."
"Me either."
When the coffee was ready, she got cups out of a desk drawer and poured for herself and the Reverend. When she handed the Reverend his cup, he noted the aroma of her, and he felt the damnable fire in his loins.
He was both disappointed and relieved when she moved away.
She sat down on the desktop, crossing her legs casually beneath her long skirt. The Reverend thought it was the sexiest movement he had ever witnessed. She picked up her coffee and sipped, looked at the Reverend over the top of her cup.
The Reverend found he could not take his eyes off of her again.
"You got something on your mind besides coffee, Reverend?" she asked.
"I'm sorry. You're a very attractive woman."
"I know. Every man in town has told me. I thought maybe you'd have a fresh approach."
"I suppose not."
"You never did answer my question, not really. Do you have something on your mind, Reverend?"
"Maybe. But I'm not sure it's proper to mention it."
"Don't be such a stuffed shirt, Reverend."
"Calling me Jeb would help."
"Jeb then."
"I think I'd best be going."
"You haven't finished your coffee, Jeb. And Dad will want to speak to you."
The Reverend sipped his coffee almost frantically. "I really should run." And then he remembered he had a legitimate excuse. He was supposed to give David a shooting lesson. In all the excitement he had forgotten about it. He told her about his and David's plans.
"Sounds wonderful. What say I invite myself along? We can have a picnic." She smiled at him. "I just love to see a grown man sweat, and it looks to be a hot day."
The Reverend didn't know what to make of Abby. He was considering some sort of reply when Doc stepped into the room.