Niceville

suddenly alive.
    A palpable miasma of resentment, of menace, seemed to breathe in the air above them and slip snakelike around their bodies as they stood there in silence. The cool fluorescent light at the windows was now gone, the window slits black and closed.
    The calling of birds in the trees stopped abruptly, the dog was no longer barking, there was no distant music on the wind. The morning breeze withered away into a low whispering murmur that seemed to come up from the earth under their boots.
    Wherever they’d been a moment ago, they weren’t in that place anymore. Merle walked a way along the lane and turned as Albert came up and stood beside him.
    “Did we just see that?”
    “We saw it,” said Merle, in a tight voice, swallowing his fear. “Everything changed.”
    “I know. But how?”
    Merle swallowed again.
    “I don’t know.”
    Two man-shaped figures with shotguns were walking towards them out of the mist, tall black shadows in the fog.
    “More of them,” said Albert Lee. “Maybe we should get back on the bus. This is all wrong.”
    “It is,” said Merle. “But we have to finish it anyway. I won’t blame you if you want to get back inside. Just don’t pull away until it’s settled.”
    Albert Lee shook his head.
    “If you’re staying, I’m staying. Do we have a plan?”
    “Not get shot.”
    Albert straightened his back, adjusted his jacket, blew out a breath, flashed a wry smile.
    “Good plan.”
    They walked slowly up the street, lowering their heads as they passed under a hanging willow, keeping a good distance apart, Merle with the Colt in his right hand, down at his side, Albert with his revolver in his left hand, held at an angle. They were looking at four men at least, the two in the street in front of them, and the two waiting by the wooden doors of the hospital.
    One of the shirtsleeved men turned around, opened the wooden doors and went inside, leaving the doors open. The other man, older, with a salt-and-pepper mustache and the look of a small-town sheriff, stepped out through the gate when they were twenty feet away, walked out into the middle of the road, blocking the lane, stepping a few feet in front of the other two men. They could see he had a double-barreled 12-gauge hanging down by his right side, held in one rough hand.
    “State your business.”
    “We’re here to see Abel Teague,” said Merle, still moving forward. He could feel Albert stepping out to his left. Depending on the choke and the shell, a 12-gauge at twenty feet had a cone of fire three feet wide.
    The man frowned at them.
    “He’s not seeing your kind. He never sees your kind. You read the sign?”
    “Our kind?” said Merle. “What’s
our kind
?”
    The man’s eyes flicked from Merle to Albert and back to Merle.
    “You know what you are.”
    “What are we?”
    His face grew less human.
    “Bounty men. You’re from her.”
    “And who are you from?”
    Now he looked confused by the question.
    “We’re with him.”
    “Abel Teague?”
    “Yes. We’re with Mr. Teague.”
    “And what are
you
?”
    The man’s eyes grew remote, and a cold light grew there.
    “We are here. We live in this place. We don’t go anywhere else. There isn’t anywhere else. We live in this place and we take care of Mr. Teague. We do his work.”
    Albert spoke, in a shaky voice.
    “John, I think we need to stop talking to this man.”
    The man turned to watch as Albert spoke, his features seeming to shift and shimmer as he did so.
    There was a long silence.
    “Albert, you still with me?”
    “Yes. I am.”
    Merle took another step forward, set himself.
    “We’re here to see Abel Teague,” he said, his anger welling up. “Step out of the way and let us go by.”
    The man stared at Merle for another second, his eyes still changing, and then he lifted the shotgun, the muzzle swinging around, and Merle shot him in the middle of the forehead.
    The slug took most of the top of the man’s head off. The sound slammed around in the misty parkland and a huge flock of birds—crows—rose up in a faint cloud in the mist and flew in circles, shrieking and calling.
    The man went down onto his knees, the shotgun clattering away, and then he pitched forward, landing on his face with a meaty crunch.
    He stayed there.
    Albert had his pistol up and the sharp crack of its muzzle blast rang in Merle’s right ear.
    One of the men behind the fallen man had a large black hole appear in his face, and he tumbled back and