Deathbed Ch. 1

“Let’s see how far we can ride ‘fore your damn head pops off,” growled the rider, dragging Rattlesnake’s inert body toward his bike with the two ends of the chain held in one hand. “Anybody got a padlock handy?” He didn’t sound like he was joking. I began to tremble.

“Jesus, ‘Taker!” someone gasped. “You can’t kill him!”

The rider’s head whipped around as he looked for the speaker, his face transforming into something almost demonic. His sharp teeth gnashed, his eyes burned green, dark-ringed, and his long, fiery hair bristled around his head. “Can’t *kill* him? Who AM I?”

The crowd was silent. The woman bartender stepped forward after a moment, her hands out in a let’s-be-reasonable gesture. “’Taker. We know who you are.” Everyone covertly glanced at me. “You don’t have to prove it or anything. I don’t think he’s going to try interfering with you again, OK? He got his lesson.”

I was shaking with horror by now; the rider was a maniac! There was no way that I would ever get back on that bike! With one more look at him, I turned and ran.

“What the hell’s she doing?” said someone as I passed. “Where’s she think she’s gonna run to?” The chain slithered to the ground behind me as if suddenly let go and someone followed me, someone with long strides that thumped on the dusty earth.

I ran through the parking lot and out to the road with Deadman in pursuit, tripping over the ruts and praying for someone to help me. All the patrons from the bar stayed where they were, but the footsteps still followed.

“God!” I cried. “God, help me!” A hand came down on my shoulder as I tried to run across the highway. “No!” The rider stopped me and turned me around to face him.

“Careful,” he said, his face showing some marks of concern. “It ain’t safe to run off.” The demon rage was gone, but it was the same face. “I’m taking care of you, Irene. C’mon, get on the bike and let’s go.”

“Help me!” I screamed, struggling in his grasp. “He’s a murderer! For the love of God, don’t leave me with him!” The people looked at each other, shrugging, then as if of one mind headed for the door of the bar. Even the woman bartender didn’t move to give me aid. Rattlesnake lay where he had fallen, the chain still loosely wrapped around his neck. “No! Come back! Help me…” Voice failing, I kicked and fought, my slight strength useless though magnified by despair.

“I didn’t kill him, OK?” said the rider patiently, half carrying me back into the parking lot. He bent and retrieved the chain as Rattlesnake moaned. “He’ll heal up; it ain’t his time yet. You calm down, hey?”

“Please, just let me go!” He ignored me, lifting me on the bike. “You bastard, let me go!” I tried to bite his arm.

“Hey! None of that!’ Pulling off the glove on his right hand, Deadman put his palm against my forehead. His teeth gritted, his fingers curled, and I felt vitality drain out of me as his eyes rolled back into his head and went blank white for a moment. All my limbs relaxed and I swayed into his arms as if I’d been drugged. I could still think and see and hear, but I could barely move. I was helpless and at his mercy.

“’Taker,” said a hoarse voice from the ground. “What are you doin’ with her?”

“What’s it look like?” Deadman replied. He kickstarted the bike, one arm around me. I was sobbing silently, limp, and he settled me in front of him and locked my legs under his to keep me secure.

“She ain’t yours,” Rattlesnake gasped. “We all thought she was yours! She don’t even know who you ARE, goddammit!”

“Not yet, I guess.” The rider motored slowly past Rattlesnake, who still lay on the ground. “They all figure it out in time.”

“The *dead* know you for who you are! Goddammit, SHE’S not dead!”

“Yeah, I know.” Deadman smiled and lowered his chin to the top of my head. “But I’m taking her with me anyway. She smells right.”

“You son of a bitch…leave that woman here! The dead are yours, not the living! You can’t take her, you fucking fiend from the pit!”

“Save your breath,” the rider replied. “I been called names by experts.”

“I ain’t letting you take me when the time comes. No way, no how. I don’t trust you.” Rattlesnake looked at me, his face bloody and swollen with a distinct boot print on the forehead, and called out to me as the rider negotiated the ruts out to the road, the sound of his voice fading rapidly under the roar of the bike. “Don’t trust him! Don’t trust no one you meet! That’s the ‘Taker, girl!” He took a deep breath and yelled faintly as the rider gunned the engine and took us out of earshot. “You’re ridin’ to hell with the Undertaker…!”