Clash of the Worlds Page 7

  Cordelia tore herself away from the window.

  “Denver never wrote about anything remotely pleasant,” Cordelia said. “We’d better go downstairs and see what nasty things are lurking behind that beautiful landscape.”

  “So, you’d better tell me what happened after I turned into a zombie,” Brendan said, leading the way back down the attic stairs. “Why are we back in the book world anyway?”

  Cordelia remembered that Brendan had been out of commission during almost their entire ordeal. He didn’t know that the Storm King had come back to life, or about their mission to find the three Worldkeepers, or any of it. So she explained what had transpired while he was a zombie as they continued down toward the foyer of Kristoff House.

  “But the Storm King said we could save Fat Jagger?” Brendan asked as they arrived in the living room. “That by finding these Worldkeepers and bringing them through the Door of Ways . . . we would be able to undo all the terrible havoc the book world caused to the real world? And, um, you know, also undo the zombie apocalypse that I accidentally started?”

  “Yeah, that’s what he said,” Cordelia answered, sounding unsure. “Supposedly everything we need to know is in here.”

  She held up the Journal of Magic and Technology. Brendan reached out for it, but his sister pulled it back reflexively. She had already sort of assigned herself the role of official researcher and leader of the mission—she was the best at that stuff. That’s the way it normally played out, anyway, even for smaller things like simply ordering pizzas for them all when their parents were out of town. She always took charge, and they never seemed to mind.

  Instead of protesting, Brendan sighed. “What makes you think we can trust the Storm King?” he asked warily. “That old sack of donkey poop hasn’t exactly been helpful ever before.”

  “I don’t know that we can fully trust him,” Cordelia said. “But we didn’t have much choice. We still don’t, especially now that we’re back here.”

  “He said we could save Fat Jagger!” Eleanor chimed in.

  “I really don’t think Denver ever wanted the two worlds to coexist,” Cordelia added. “Why would he? It would only result in a lot of destruction, especially for his beloved characters, his creations.”

  Brendan wasn’t really sure he fully believed that argument. But even if the Storm King was lying, being here seemed to be a lot better than back in that mess at the moment. He had technically died in the real world, after all.

  “Well, let’s go outside and see where we are,” he said, taking a deep breath as he reached for the front door.

  But just before his hand touched the knob, someone pounded the other side of the door so violently, it almost sounded like gunshots. Brendan flinched, his eyes wide.

  “We know you’re in there!” a voice shouted from the front porch as a fist pounded on the door again. “Now come on out or we’re gonna start shooting!”

  The three Walker children exchanged frightened glances, unsure of what to do.

  “I knew it was too good to be true,” Cordelia muttered.

  The sound of guns cocking just outside the front door pushed Cordelia into action. She crept forward, and gently pulled back the curtain.

  Standing on the front porch were three men wearing cowboy hats and shiny gold badges. Two of the men had flannel shirts and held Winchester rifles. The man in the center wore a huge overcoat made of gray fur and held a Colt revolver with a smooth pearl handle in his right hand.

  Cordelia turned back to Brendan.

  “They look like lawmen, so I’m going to try to reason with them,” she whispered. “You take Nell and go hide in the kitchen pantry. Just in case.”

  “No,” Brendan protested. “You take Nell. I’m good at talking my way out of things.”

  “Those are cowboys out there,” Cordelia said. “From the Old West. The men from that era were full of machismo, which meant other men threatened them. But they had a soft spot for girls and treating them properly . . . like ladies. I might have a better chance with them.”

  “But . . . ,” Brendan started, not feeling comfortable with his sister playing the hero while he hid like a coward. Where was the glory in that? But even more than that, he simply couldn’t stomach the thought of either of his sisters facing down armed gunmen alone.

  “There’s no time to argue,” Cordelia cut him off. “Do it now!”

  Brendan knew she was right. He grabbed Eleanor’s hand and they headed toward the kitchen pantry. He heard Cordelia yelling at their unknown assailants just as he closed the pantry door.

  “I’m going to open the door,” she shouted. “Don’t shoot, I’m an unarmed lady!”

  Cordelia slowly opened the front door and then took several steps back. The men stormed inside with their guns ready. The man in the fur coat pointed his revolver right at Cordelia’s face.

  “Where is he?” he demanded.

  “Who?” Cordelia asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

  “The deadly outlaw that goes by the name Lefty Payne,” the man said.

  “Lefty Payne?” Cordelia repeated. “Never heard of him.”

  “He’s called Lefty on account of him only having one arm, the right one,” the man said. “But don’t let that fool you, he’s four times deadlier than most men are with two arms. He’s a wanted outlaw guilty of at least fourteen unprovoked homicides. And we know he’s hiding in here.”

  Cordelia did her best to look indignant. Like she belonged in this house in the middle of the prairie.

  “Well, I certainly hope you catch him,” she said. “But there’s nobody here but me. And besides, you have no right to just barge into my house like this!”

  “I have no right?” he said as if he was the King of the Prairie. “Don’t you know who I am?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Cordelia said.

  “Sheriff Burton Abernathy,” the man said, and then paused as he pulled back his shoulders to make himself look more regal.

  Cordelia’s face remained blank. Sheriff Abernathy grew visually agitated.

  “Well?” he finally shouted at her. “You ain’t heard of me?”

  Cordelia shook her head.

  “They call me the Wolf Catcher,” Sheriff Abernathy said. “You must know me by that name! I’ve caught over one hundred fifty wolves with my bare hands.”

  “How do you catch wolves with your bare hands?” Cordelia asked, not able to help herself. When some crazy guy in a fur coat says he’s caught hundreds of wolves with his bare hands, further inquiry is required. It’s an inescapable, proven law of science, like gravity or photosynthesis, or climate change or evolution.

  The Wolf Catcher held up his right hand, allowing the sleeve of his coat to slide down, revealing a muscular forearm covered in hundreds of cuts and streaking scars.

  “By jamming this arm down their throats!” he said triumphantly. “It keeps them from biting me.”

  “How . . . macabre,” Cordelia said, warily eyeing the old scars on the man’s arm.

  Even though he said he was a sheriff, and had the badge to back up his story, she was getting the sense that he was not to be trusted.

  Sheriff Abernathy looked around the house for the first time. The relatively modern furniture and artwork and fixtures seemed to unsettle him. The odd setting of the house only seemed to make him more suspicious and angry than he’d been when he first arrived. He shoved the gun toward Cordelia’s face again, practically jamming the barrel up her nostril.

  “Mind if we look around some?” he asked.

  “No, I want you out of here,” Cordelia said, surprised by her own defiance in the face of this seeming madman.

  The sound of a low cough drifted out into the foyer from the kitchen. The three lawmen’s heads all snapped in that direction and then turned back toward Cordelia.

  “I thought you said you was alone,” one of the deputies said.

  “You mean, were alone, Deputy Sturgis,” Sheriff Abernathy corrected him.

  �
��Yeah, whatever, she knows what I meant,” Deputy Sturgis said with a menacing grin.

  “You know, little lady,” Sheriff Abernathy said to Cordelia. “Lying to an agent of the law is a felony offense. Punishable by death.”

  Cordelia was fairly certain that could not be true. But at the same time, Old West law was vastly different than the modern law she learned about in civics class last year, in the sense that the local sheriffs of counties in territories that weren’t even states yet could virtually make up their own rules as they went along. There used to be judges known for that sort of thing in the Old West. Judges who acted as the sheriff, jury, and executioner all at once.

  “I didn’t lie,” Cordelia said, her voice shaking. “There’s nobody here but me.”

  “You’re lying again,” Sheriff Abernathy said with a nasty grin. “That’s two offenses now. Which means we get to carry out your death sentence immediately and with extreme prejudice. Men, take aim. Fire on my command.”

  “We ain’t even gonna arrest her?” one of the deputies asked.

  “No, Deputy McCoy,” Sheriff Abernathy replied, “we are not going to arrest her. There’s no time; we need to keep looking for Lefty Payne or else he’ll get away again. Plus, arresting folks creates paperwork, and you know how much I hate paperwork. Now, reload your rifles if you need to. We’ll fire on three.”

  All three lawmen raised their weapons and took aim at Cordelia. She couldn’t believe it had devolved to this so quickly. She could only hope Eleanor and Brendan were busy making their getaway.

  “One,” Sheriff Abernathy started. “Two . . .”

  “Hold up a sec,” Deputy McCoy blurted out as he lowered his gun. “Shootin’ an unarmed man is one thing, but shooting an unarmed female? Well, that just seems downright unhonorable. Plus, I’d be feeling mighty guilty about it for the rest of my days. Now, Sturgis and me is the same rank, why do I got to shoot this here little girl?”

  “He makes a right good point,” Deputy Sturgis said. “I don’t want to shoot her neither. . . .”

  “Either,” corrected the sheriff.

  “She reminds me of my own little girl,” Sturgis said. “But one of us has to do the dirty deed, since the law is the law and all, and she done broke the law. Maybe we should vote on it?”

  “That’s a mighty swell idea!” Deputy McCoy said. “’Cause, you know, there’s three of us, so we know it won’t end in a gridlock tie or whatnot.”

  “We’re not voting!” Sheriff Abernathy screamed, silencing them both. “It doesn’t matter! I’ll just do it myself!”

  He raised his Colt and pointed it at Cordelia again. He pulled back the hammer. This time there would be no countdown. Cordelia closed her eyes and hoped it would go quickly.

  “Hey, scumbags!” someone shouted behind them.

  The three lawmen spun around to find themselves face-to-face with two young kids. The smaller kid stepped forward. She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old. She jabbed a small paring knife with a bright orange blade toward them.

  “Drop your weapons,” she sneered.

  Cordelia grinned at the sight of Brendan and Eleanor standing nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, brandishing their “weapons” as menacingly as possible. Their options had clearly been pretty limited, since the movers had taken most of the smaller household items to their new apartment the night before.

  Eleanor held a small orange paring knife that had been forgotten, crammed in the back of the now-empty utensil drawer. And Brendan had a handheld vacuum. It had a big handle with a red trigger; a long, bright purple shaft with a corner attachment extended from the end. It almost looked like some sort of sci-fi laser rifle to Brendan. It was a strange-looking vacuum, even by modern standards, and so he’d hoped it might look more dangerous than it actually was.

  The three men stared at the Walkers in shock for several moments with their mouths hanging open. A lump of gooey black chaw dripped from Deputy McCoy’s lower lip and plopped onto the floor with a soft splat.

  That’s when Sheriff Abernathy began laughing. It was more of a hysterical series of high-pitched giggles than an actual laugh. Which caused the deputies to laugh as well. The three of them stood there and laughed at Brendan and Eleanor for an uncomfortable amount of time.

  It caught Eleanor so off guard that she lowered her knife, momentarily forgetting the danger of the situation. Even though it was better than if the men had simply raised their weapons and shot at them, it was still humiliating to be laughed at so openly.

  The Walkers couldn’t have asked for a better distraction. But Brendan and Eleanor had been too surprised by the laughter to take advantage of it.

  It was too late by the time the three lawmen finally came to their senses and raised their guns again.

  “You can try to fight us all you want, little girl,” Deputy McCoy said as he advanced on her, a streak of black spit from his fallen tobacco staining his chin. “But I bet you a nickel the bullet from this here rifle moves a lot faster than you do.”

  He raised his gun and pointed it right at Eleanor. She dropped her knife and took a step back. The deputy lowered the weapon slightly, seeming unsure if he really had the stomach to shoot an unarmed little girl.

  That’s when Brendan finally seized the moment. He hit the trigger on the vacuum and then pressed the Max button on the back of the handle.

  The sound of the vacuum roaring to life actually elicited a startled yelp out of Deputy McCoy, causing him to drop the rifle to the ground with a clatter. The other two lawmen took an instinctive step back. Sheriff Abernathy’s foot caught the edge of the entryway rug, and he went sprawling onto his butt with a grunt.

  Brendan lunged forward and pressed the corner attachment to Deputy McCoy’s cheek as the man reached for his fallen rifle. The vacuum attached itself to the baggy skin on his face with surprisingly powerful suction.

  The deputy screamed in terror. He’d never heard or felt anything quite like it before, and was too scared to realize that it didn’t actually hurt. Pure fear had taken over as he screamed uncontrollably.

  Deputy Sturgis and Sheriff Abernathy watched in shock as the young boy inflicted unimaginable pain on Deputy McCoy with the strange torture device. They turned on their boot heels and dashed through the front door and back outside without a second thought.

  Cordelia charged at McCoy, who was still screaming. She rammed her shoulder into his chest like she’d seen Brendan do before at countless lacrosse matches during the past few years. Deputy McCoy went sprawling backward onto the floor. He grabbed his gun, quickly scrambled to his feet, and ran out the front door after his two comrades.

  Brendan rushed over and slammed it shut. He fastened all three locks and then peeked out the window. The three men were on their horses and galloping away from the house as if they were in a race with their own shadows.

  He spun around and saw Cordelia practically smothering Eleanor with hugs.

  “Thanks for saving me!” she gushed. “You were so brave!”

  Brendan coughed loudly several times until Cordelia looked up at him.

  “You know, I played a pretty big role in that whole thing, too,” he said, puffing out his chest.

  “Oh, Brenny, are you feeling left out?” Cordelia asked him in a baby voice. “Come on then, give sister a hug!”

  She flung her arms open and charged at Brendan. He sidestepped and spun away from his sister with a grin.

  “Just a simple thank-you will do,” he said. “No need to get all mushy on me.”

  “Come on, give your sisters a hug!” Eleanor said, moving around to flank Brendan. “Walker Hugwich!”

  Cordelia used to do this to him all the time when he was five and she was eight. She would chase him all over their house threatening to give him hugs. He’d run, faking terror, but usually was laughing the whole time. Eleanor would be stumbling around clumsily after them, already feeling left out, even as a toddler. Once she was old enough to really join in, they would both go after
Brendan, calling the maneuver a Walker Hugwich.

  For a moment, the three Walker children stood there in the formal living room of Kristoff House in the middle of some fictional nineteenth-century prairie, grinning. They remembered simpler, happier times before they were always seemingly one second away from getting shot by a psychopathic cowboy sheriff, or vivisected by a psychopathic pirate captain, or fed to the lions by a psychopathic Roman emperor.

  Things had definitely changed for the Walker family since those simpler times, back when the biggest thing to fear was a Walker Hugwich.

  “Well, now what?” Brendan asked as he plopped down onto the living room sofa a few minutes later.

  “I’m hungry,” Eleanor said, pulling her feet underneath her on the chair across from him. “And thirsty.”

  “Me too,” Brendan said. “I really wish I’d eaten some of that meat we got for Fat Jagger.”

  At the mention of her dead best friend’s name, Eleanor looked down into her lap and bit her lip to keep from crying. For a moment, her hunger was forgotten.

  “Well, I’m going to start reading this,” Cordelia said, holding up Denver Kristoff’s Journal of Magic and Technology. “In case you forgot, we need to find the three Worldkeepers. And as of now, we have no idea what they are, where they’re at, or how to find them. Unless you have a better idea, Bren?”

  Brendan shrugged. Of course he didn’t. He was never the one with the good ideas. Pulling off impromptu comedy routines and legendary performances of eighties oldie classics? Sure, that was his territory. Knowing the perfect time to fart in public and then loudly blame it on Cordelia once other people smelled it? Brendan was pretty good at that too. But Cordelia was the one who was good at taking charge and making plans. So he wasn’t going to stand in her way.

  “Uh, Bren?” Cordelia said.

  “What?” he asked. “I’m thinking, okay! You think vacuuming a deputy’s face doesn’t take a lot out of a guy?”

  Cordelia grinned, rolled her eyes, and then began skimming through the pages of Denver’s Journal as quickly as she could. Which proved far more difficult than she suspected. Denver’s handwriting was narrow, cramped, and gratuitously elaborate. It made fast reading almost impossible.