Get Stitched Or Lie Dying

What The Devil?

"July the Fourteenth, you say?" Colby asked, looking at the Rail's many buildings as they passed. Doc Severus had him riding shotgun in the wagon on the road to Meadowlark. Wagon below and those passing by made thunderous notes as children under eaves pointed at the pale man wearing metallic accouterments.

"Yes it is, and today is peaceful. For now. Folks are getting worked up over many a strange and intimidating thing. Just last night there was dang near a riot outside of the Chinese laundry."

"Bandits?" Colby asked, grim. "Or drunks tryin' to grope a Celestial?"

Doc eyed the cowboy, as much in disbelief as sarcasm. "A man-fly done flew in and caused a bunch of havoc."

Colby jerked back. "A what now?"

"Bottle fly." Doc made an inch mark with the index finger and thumb. "Cattle fly." He widened the gap. "Man-fly." Doc raised the hand free from the reins to the top of his head.

Colby failed to laugh. He could only offer a squint in his eyes. "A...you're hornswoggling me."

"I tell you no lie, son. Bulbous eyes big as my hands. Tried to fly out with Mrs. Lowenbrau's youngest daughter. A couple a' cowboys shot it down. Body's on display over--"

"I don't wanna hear no more." Colby turned away from Doc. He wanted to see only the buildings, lifeless things. Objects without sudden change. Testaments to stability. The saloon. Church. A rickety bridge over a pissy creek, mules drinking. His stomach roiled something fierce. A second later, Colby vomited a noxious charred flow out and into the creek. Its venomous touch boiled water, scared a few of the mules and blackened Colby's lips.

He wiped his face clean, eyes watery, threads of the sleeve burning. He patted it out on his pants. An acrid taste filled the mouth. Not an acidic assault as in the case of a true throwing up, but a dry, coarse, sulfurous fuming, as if he had eaten only the crisp, burnt outer skin off an overcooked hog and got none of the soft flesh.

Doc kept the wagon moving unabated. "Gonna be fine, son. Fine and dandy. Commissioner Dunwich got all of us who serve the public out keeping folks passive. Physicians, lawyers, judges. Gotta keep 'em happy. Riled up townsfolk only make matters worse, ain't that right?"

Colby spat onto the board. It sizzled.

"Right, Doc. Calm. Calm, before the storm."

Meadowlark Hospital

With its intricate iron pieces around the porch beams and convex roof angles, the Mansard styled hospital appeared to be the home of one of the Rail's more successful attorneys rather than a setting for convalescence. Colby strode in, doing what he could to be a man, push down his personal feelings and find his team. Calm. But the nurse nearest the door had other ideas.

"Doctor Severus? Sir?" She gave Colby a strict up and down with her piercing blue eyes. "Is this man eligible for returning here? I haven't heard from Doctor Pierce yet."

Doc took her by the shoulders, as he had done with Colby. "Ma'am, he's fine. We have the braces on Mister Stockwell made fast and delivered faster. Now, if you please, let him through. He's the closest thing to family these people have out here."

"Stockwell? Why, yes, he's been in and out of here a lot as well. But he's hardly a physician! More of a, a snake oil salesman!"

Doc nodded to Colby, who moved on ahead while the Doc played negotiator.

Colby hit the main desk. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm looking for Valryka Duffy, Fear, I mean, Porfirio Dukes and one Bryce Favreau. While I'm at it, might as well ask about Preacher Voss and--"