Exciser

Rueben swung his leg over the horse’s back and dropped from the saddle. He didn’t look up at the dead. He knew they were there. He’d seen them as he approached the ruined town. Their ropes groaned in the breeze even as warning bells pealed on the other side of the wall.

“Welcome to Jackson,” he muttered, stroking the beast’s face before guiding it toward the gate. His exposure patch glowed purple in his other hand. Time to get under cover.

He’d planned to pass by the town, to keep ahead of the hunters who pursued him, but then the cursed lights had appeared for the first time in months, and he’d been forced to scuttle for cover like a cockroach. It had been either that or a night sharing his travel cloak with the horse in some ruin on the outskirts. He’d spent all day brooding over his encounter with Shawn and the others twenty miles west of here and found, for once, he craved company and a real bed for a night.

A man wearing an antique Army helmet emerged from the sentry hut, pistol in one hand, oil lamp in the other. “Town’s closed, stranger.”

“I seek shelter.” Reuben gestured up at the dancing bands of rainbow light in the night sky.

“Like I said. Town’s closed.” The guard had a straggly beard and the brittle confidence of youth.

Rueben sighed. “Law says you gotta provide shelter for travelers.”

“I got my orders. No one’s allowed in on account of the plague. Not without examination.”

“So, examine me,” Reuben said, stepping forward into the yellow light of the lamp, exposing his scarred face.

The revolver muzzle jerked away. “Get back! You got it!”

“I had it. I ain’t gonna get it again. Now, you have a choice, son. You can either let me in, or you can find someone who’ll make that call because, one way or another, I’m gonna shelter here tonight.”

The guard called over his shoulder. “Merle!”

“What’s goin’ on out here?” The business end of a double barrelled shotgun appeared in the air beside the guard.

“Stranger says we gotta give him shelter. Says it’s the law.”

“You tell him about the plague, boy?”

“Says he’s —”

“I’ve already had it,” Reuben spat, his patience at an end. He took off his hat and threw back his hood, exposing the faded scars and pockmarks lining his jaw and throat. “The sickness took my wife and daughter and I wish to Almighty God it had taken me but, it seems he’s not finished with me yet.”

The second man nodded, rubbing his chin as if to check his own face. “You know, you should take care with your words, stranger. Some folks would call that blasphemy.”

He edged a little closer, examining Reuben’s face, his lip curling as the lantern made the scars even more obvious. “Yeah, all healed up. But we ain’t got room, and the law’s the law. You should hunker down out here somewhere and take the examination tomorrow.”

With the speed of a striking rattlesnake, Reuben grabbed the gun barrel, wrenching it out of the guard’s grip, then dropped it as he drew his Colt 1911. The two guards froze like statues.

Then he smiled and holstered his weapon.

“What the hell?” the older guard said, raising his eyebrow. “Put the gun down, boy,” he added to the youth behind him.

“You’ll let me in?”

Merle shrugged and shook his head. “We got our orders.”

Grabbing hold of the cuff of his travel-stained canvas jacket, Reuben put the older guard between him and the other. Then he rolled his sleeve up.

Merle’s jaw dropped as he gasped. “But … but … That’s the mark of …”

Reuben lifted a finger to his lips and the older guard went silent, before stepping back, hushing the younger man’s questions.

“Am I free to proceed?”

“Of course, master.” Merle made a waving gesture.

“Where could I find lodging for myself and my horse?”

Merle, whose demeanor had spun on its axis, made a show of considering that. “Well, you could try McGinty’s, Ox has usually got space, though the town’s bursting at the seams. Shall I send a runner to find out?”

“No, thank you. I’ll find somewhere,” Reuben said, leading the horse past the barrier and into the town. Damn the man’s intransigence. He’d hoped to slip in and out of the town without causing any disturbance, but this man would remember him and the markings on the underside of his forearm. He had to hope that it was long before others came here, pursuing him.

For the thousandth time he wished with all his heart he’d never become an exciser. No profession was loathed as much, no men so hated as those who identified and terminated deviants.

And no man more earnestly hunted than the one who turns his back on the holy order. For Reuben Bane, there was nowhere safe to hide.

For now, however, he led his horse quickly through Jackson’s deserted street. He’d covered the beast’s flank with his silvered cloak, but had nothing more substantial than a reinforced hood to protect his brain from cooking under the aurora’s malevolent glare.

He felt eyes watching him from the shadows as he passed like a ghost accompanied only by the gentle clip-clop of hooves on asphalt. Keeping one hand on the bridle, the other on his 1911, he kept his head still while his eyes scanned a darkness relieved only by the orange flames of the street braziers.

Reuben fought back a yawn, pushing away the exhaustion of a fortnight in the wilderness — this would not be a good time to show any signs of weakness. There was no better time to attack a stranger than when everyone was supposed to be taking shelter. Anyone who tried it with him wouldn’t have time to learn from their mistake, but there was always the risk of injury and, most importantly, drawing attention to himself.

He saw McGinty’s by the light leaking from behind its shuttered windows before he could make out the sign above the door. What had once been a motel was now the main drinking establishment of a much smaller Jackson, that clung to the skirts of a mummified city.

***

A man emerged into the night, silhouetted against the orange glow of the tavern’s interior. He stood, ax in hand gesturing Reuben to wait.

“I don’t recognize you,” the man said.

“Name’s Reuben Bane. You Ox?”

“John Oxendine. You know me?”

Reuben nodded in the direction of the south gate. “I was told you might have lodging for me and my horse.”

Oxendine’s eyes switched to the animal. “Looks a fine beast.”

“Should have been put out to pasture years ago but, you know.”

The innkeeper nodded, the hand on his ax relaxing a little. Horses were worth more than silver and, in general, ridden until they dropped. “What’s your business?”

“Just passing through. Do you have room for me? I can pay.”

“Ammo? Smokes?”

“Silver.” Reuben reached into his inside pocket and held out a sliver of metal that glittered in the darkness.

Oxendine’s eye’s glittered as he moved quickly forward. Reuben could have easily taken him out as he did so, ax or no ax, but then he’d have the townsfolk on his heels as he tried to escape. And the man was harmless in his judgement.

“It’ll cost you three ounces.”

Reuben held the innkeeper’s gaze. Both men knew the price was three times the going rate for a night’s lodging, even including stabling.

“I’ll take two,” Oxendine said after a few seconds of silence.

Reuben dropped the three slivers into Oxendine’s meaty hand. “Three is fine, Mr. Oxendine.”

“Call me Ox,” he said, then turned back to where a figure waited beside the door. “Go fetch Seamus and tell him he’s got to find room and fresh hay for Mr. Reuben’s beast.”

The figure disappeared inside; the hubbub quickly truncated as the door closed behind him.

Reuben waited just long enough for the silence to become awkward before saying, “What’s the news? Guard at the gate says there’s plague around.”

“Yeah. That’s why I was surprised to see you. Orders are no one’s allowed in after dark. Harder to examine folks without daylight.”

Reuben nodded. “I don’t need much examination. Had the plague a year ago, won’t get it again.”

The innkeeper went to step backward then caught himself and planted his foot down before mumbling an apology.

“Nothing wrong with being frightened of the plague,” Reuben said. “But tell me, who runs Jackson these days? Last I heard you had a city council.”

Oxendine lowered his voice. “Best we go inside. Loose talk and all.”

At that moment, the hostler appeared and took the horse’s reins.

“Now, you look after Mr. Bane’s beast, Seamus, you hear me?”

“Yes, Mr. Oxendine,” the young man said, his black ponytail jumping up and down as he nodded. “He’s a fine horse, sir,” he added to Reuben as he took the reins. “What do I call him?”

“Lucifer’s his right name, on account of his temperament when he was young.”

Reuben watched as the young hostler led Lucifer, smiling at the way he kept the horse at arm’s length as if he might turn into his namesake at any moment.