Reaper (#1, Duster and a Gun) Page 2

  I was awoken by the butt end of a rifle and before I could catch my breath, two attackers had descended upon me. With my gun removed from its holster and unable to shake the men off, I took what they could give for several minutes.

  I know when I’ve been beaten, and this wasn’t one of those times. The bandits grew tired of beating a defenseless man, and they let up They wanted my money, not my life.

  “Twenty bucks,” said one of the men that had been beating me. “We did all this work for twenty goddamn dollars? Yer lucky we don’t kill ya, buddy.”

  The bandit stuffed the cash into his wide chaps and made his way back to his horse. He looked like he wanted to finish me off.

  “We’ll take ‘is gun and horse,” the other one said. “That’ll double our take.”

  “I think you mean my take,” another bandit still on a horse said. “You two will take what I give ya, and I won’t hear another word about it.”

  Their leader was built like an ox and covered in a whiskery beard that continued down the many folds of his thick neck and chest.

  “Yer lucky we don’t kill ya, pal,” the leader said. “I’ve killed men for much less than this.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, on my knees with blood running down my brow. “I bet you have.”

  The other bandits got on their horses; Betsy tied to them, an unwilling participant in their scheme. Without my gun, I would be unable to stop them, or so they thought.

  My head was pounding and far removed from rational thinking. I had one thing up my sleeve, however, something the bandits never could’ve seen coming. They didn’t know who I was. They didn’t know what I was capable of. .

  “It takes a big man to steal a man’s horse and gun while he sleeps,” I said with a spit in the bandit’s direction. “I bet a man like you shows all the women just how big and strong he is.”

  “Bite yer tongue, you mangy dog!” bellowed the leader, rearing his horse onto its hind legs. “Speak yer filth one more time and I’ll see that tongue cut from yer throat.”

  I had him now. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I should bite my tongue...” I needed to tread lightly, antagonize the man too much and I’d likely get a bullet in the brain. I had to play this shrewdly, or I wouldn’t be playing for much longer.

  “Hold up, boys,” said the leader to his men. “I reckon this one’s fixin’ to learn a real hard lesson.”

  The man dismounted and stalked towards me. I could see the gleam in his eyes; he enjoyed his work, and command over life and death itself.

  “Tell me,” he began with a pistol pressed to my forehead. “Was it worth it?”

  “Was what worth it?”

  “The need to be such a little pecker,” the leader said as he cocked the hammer. “I hope it did, because it just cost ya —.”

  With a fistful of sand to his eyes, I grabbed the pistol from the bandit’s hand and used his body as a shield. Luckily, the hired help were terrible shots and their bullets either went whizzing past my head or into my shield.

  It took two shots from their leader’s pistol to drop the other men to the ground. I let their leader drop, full of holes from the bullets meant for me.

  “You’ll never...,” the leader said with a cough, “you’ll never… get away with this.”

  “That’s an interesting notion,” I said, kicking at his heels. “I do believe I have already.”

  The crack of all those shots could be heard far across the plains, echoing off the mountains and back towards us. The bandits lay motionless as I rummaged through their belongings. I wasn’t like these thieves, I kept telling myself. They were thoughts that gave me little comfort as I looted their pockets.

  A few coppers were all these men had to their names. They shouldn’t have to die like this, but the country was filled with it a sea of migrant workers and little in the way of protection. These vultures were all too happy to take what wasn’t theirs.

  “I wouldn’t have thought you’d to stoop to their level,” said a voice from behind me. “I shouldn’t be surprised at the depths you’ve sunk, especially after all that’s happened to you in the last few years.”

  I recognized the voice. He was the only immortal that has never tried to kill me, but it was a precarious line I walked with him, he could end me with ease.

  “Is there no one better to stalk?” I asked in agitation. “If you’ve got any useful information to divulge, you’d best spit it out. Or is it your intention to make me mad.”

  “Always on the defensive,” he said mockingly, “afraid to let anyone close, even with a helping hand. I’m not your enemy, Horace, and you’d best watch your tone when in my presence. I don’t give second chances.”

  He stood a foot taller than me with broad shoulders. His tousled blonde hair and porcelain white suit fluttered in the breeze as the sand stirred around our feet. He was a snake-oil salesmen if there ever was one, offering deceit and half-truths in order to serve his heavenly purposes. It wasn’t that he was the most powerful being I’ve ever met that unnerved me, it was that he was impossible to read, an enigma.

  “I didn’t ask for your help,” I said, “but if you’re offering assistance, I could hardly refuse, now could I?”

  “Not news of your past,” the man said. “That information you must discover yourself. I come to offer a glimpse into the future… should you continue on this perilous path you walk.”

  “I get it,” I replied. “I’m supposed to bow down to your sage advice.”

  “All right, you’ve made yourself perfectly clear,” he said with a tinge of regret in his voice, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, as unpleasant as they may be.”

  I turned my back on him and he was gone. Perhaps he did have some information that may have prove useful, but what he offered was not done out of the kindness of his heart. No, what he provided would have set me towards a different path—his path, where no man should walk.

  I unsaddled their horses and with a pat on the rear I sent them out into the vast plains to find their way. I didn’t need them, Betsy was more than enough for my purposes, this way they had a chance.

  I packed the few belongings that I had taken from the bandits into Betsy’s saddlebag and hoisted myself up. She had been startled by the experience. Her heart was racing so I stroked her mane soothingly and lead us onward.

  “Goodbye, my angelic old friend,” I said to the wind. “I hope to never see you again, Gabriel.”

  Chapter Three

  Duster and a Gun: Reaper

  Gregory Blackman

  One Good Deed

  With any luck, the feeding den over the next ridge would be where I finally catch up with my memories, however cruel they may be. I had tracked the Abaddon to this bleak place, and now stood within a hundred paces of the only safe haven its kind was allowed. Unlike the trickster in the saloon, this monster was unable to hide amongst humans.

  I lifted myself off the ground and made my way back to Betsy. I tied her to one of the fallen trees that littered the landscape and grabbed a few things from her saddlebag. I stuffed the extra firearms into my waist for good measure.

  I’d been up against frightening creatures before, vampires, quasi-demons and countless monsters in between. Yet, I’d never gone up against anything quite like this. The feeding den was nothing more than a dilapidated shack, in the middle of nowhere and hidden to all but the otherworldly creatures that roamed the land. It was their place, where no mortal dare find themselves.

  “I’ve got you now,” I muttered under my breath as I hustled towards the boarded up building. “Run or hide… I’ll find you demon… to the ends of the earth if I have to.”

  I pressed against the den’s plank siding and readied my weapon. My nerves were on edge, it wasn’t the battle that got to me, but the waiting that caused the twitch in my fingers. I was always good under pressure.

  I rounded the corner of the building, headed towards the front door with the sole purpose to eliminate everything in my way. Heads would
roll, of that I would make certain. It was quiet. I should’ve never gotten this far without finding some fiend looking to make supper out of me. It was a trap, or at least that’s what every fiber of my body was telling me. They were waiting for me, biding their time until I inevitably slipped up.

  Not today, I told myself, as I kicked in the front door of the shack, my revolver raised high as I scanned the room for any signs of movement.

  “What the…,” I gasped as I caught sight of the inside this cesspool. “Even for demons… this just isn’t right.”

  My travels had taken me to several of these dens, yet none looked like this. Usually the ghouls and underlings of the demonic community would serve as caretakers for these places. They would maintain some order here and give the appearance that a man might live here. None dared enter this den, however, at least not while the Abaddon had taken up residence.

  Blood was splattered across the walls, so much that it was indistinguishable from paint on the walls in places. Human and some type of animal gore were strewn on the floors and other surfaces, the remains of the carnage that had taken place. It was the definition of a hellhole, and it needed to be wiped from this earth.

  I came to the grim realization that the monster I sought was no longer here. Whatever happened in this den was recent and I knew he couldn’t be far away. With a little luck I could be on his trail before the sun set.

  An unsettling feeling came over me. I wasn’t alone. Something was here, right now, watching and judging. “Who’s there?” I asked with my gun raised. “I’ll only ask this once, after that, I start shooting.”

  “Elp…,” said a hushed voice beneath the floorboards. Whatever was making the noise, it sounded of little threat. Still, I kept my finger on the trigger in case of another hidden danger.

  “Help… us…,” said the voice again, this time much clearer than before.

  It was a man under the floor, perhaps more than one. They were trapped and needed to be freed. No one deserves to be waiting for that moment when a demon would find nourishment in their flesh and blood.

  “Stand back!” I shouted and began prying at the planks of wood. “Is there a hatch of some kind?”

  “I… don’t remember,” the voice replied. “Please… you have to hurry.”

  There had to be some way to get below, because these floorboards just wouldn’t come up. Whatever sealed this hatch, it wasn’t meant for my eyes to find. I gave up my search and decided my time could be better spent elsewhere.

  “There we go,” I said, scanning the repulsive interior once more. Weapons came in all shapes and sizes, limited only to the imagination of the user. I’d seen a fork wielded with such skill that it killed a man in a second flat. I’d also seen a man with a broadsword cleave, and cleave some more to kill. Gruesome weapons, I thought, not nearly as clean or effective as a pistol.

  Still, for those times when brute force was needed, nothing came close to that of a massive war axe with blood still etched across its edges. I picked up the axe from underneath the front window.

  “Stand back!” I shouted as I lifted the axe to my shoulder. It came crashing down and turned wood to splinters under its hefty weight. A few more swings and l I had removed enough of the floor to reveal a small and dark passageway

  Like the den above, the walls were painted with blood and gore it couldn’t have been in a more revolting place.

  I approached an iron door at the end of a small tunnel. It was locked and marked with several demonic signs and hieroglyphs. It was a warning, that death would be swift for those that dare enter unannounced. “Like I haven’t been told that before, Demons and their silly curses… they’ll never learn.”

  My axe came crashing down on the lock and the door swung open. It crashed against the cement wall inside. The darkness from the room masked whatever lay on the other side from my sight.

  “I’m here to help.” Two silhouettes emerged from the blackness and crept towards the door inch by inch. I could hear the sound of metal scraping, a pair shuffling in unison towards what they probably never thought they would ever see again, freedom.

  The taller of the two was an old man; sickly looking with a scraggly white beard and covered in rags that barely covered him. He must’ve been seventy, an age that would’ve given him the title of respected elder among any of the cities I’ve ever visited, but here, in this hellish place, he was nothing but a meal. Likely it was his frail stature that allowed him to survive this long. He was undesirable to all, save for those monsters near starvation.

  “We’re forever in your debt, kind stranger,” said the elderly man, “You’ve saved not only our lives, sir, but our souls, as well. What we owe can never be repaid. Both the boy and I will sing praises of you until we can sing no longer.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said, raising my hands in surrender, “I was merely doing my duty, you’ll be safe now.” The boy was no older than ten, but even after the unspeakable atrocities this child had seen, he carried his head high with bright blue eyes that seemed to beam with hope. His hair was matted to his head, dripping of sweat and the blood of his fallen companions. His clothes weren’t in much better shape than the old man’s.

  “Come on,” I said to the freed prisoners. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Four

  Duster and a Gun: Reaper

  Gregory Blackman

  Deserves Another

  I struck a match and let the flame linger a moment before it fell from my hand onto the bone dry wooden floor quickly spread into a fiery blaze of the shack. Built by those who would see their disease spread across the land, it was a beacon for the demonic, a place where they would gorge themselves on the helpless victims ensnared by their deceit. Soon, it would be nothing more than a charred reminder of the evils that once stirred there.

  I should’ve enjoyed the sight more than I seemed to; after all, it was my entire reason for being. This wasn’t the victory I had in mind. It was the Abaddon I sought, not some geezer and his child sidekick, however worthwhile it may have been at the time. It had fled, no doubt aware of my arrival, and his trail was getting colder with every second I wasted in their company.

  This small victory would have to do. “What’s your name, old man?” I asked. “What brought you to this place?”

  “My name… well, my name is,” began the old man, mumbling “I don’t rightly remember… it’s been so very long.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “I suppose… if I knew that, I’d be able to remember my own name,” the old man said, dumbfounded. “I do remember seeing others come and go… the beasts… they… kept the cellar stuffed with victims of all different stock. They fed us… kept us from killing one another in an act of mercy… all to feed the needs of their ungodly kind.”

  “Where are they?”

  “The big one came by a day ago,” the old man said with a slight delay, “and tore up everyone except the boy and me… only because the others tried to stop him.”

  “Who were these others?”

  “The dark ones that serve,” he continued. “He tore them up sumthin’ fierce, as well. Then all of a sudden he was gone… and replaced by the savior we see in front of us.”

  “I’m no savior.”

  “Call it what you want, good sir,” he said, “but we would’ve died in that place, of that I’m certain.”

  “What of the boy?” I asked in attempt to change the subject. “Does he have a name he cannot remember?”

  The boy stared back at us, refusing to say a single word. At first, I thought he was hopeful, but I’d come to realize he was in shock, his life thought forfeit just moments ago.

  “Now that one I do know,” the old man said proudly. “His name’s Billy—Billy Godwin, isn’t that right, boy?”

  Billy nodded in agreement, but remained tightlipped about his encounters with the supernatural. It was a common reaction, one I’ve seen far too often. He would one day speak of what’d happened to him
, but only on his terms, after enough time had passed for the scars to heal.

  “What becomes of us now, good sir?” the old man asked. “The boy was taken with a group of others, three nights ago. I remember hearing them speak of their town, due west, not more than two hundred miles away. Perhaps we could go there… see ourselves once more as the proper citizens we once were—.”

  “I reckon that you’re free to do as you wish,” I said, looking off to the horizon. “As for myself, I’m going to resume my hunt… and the two of you can go back to the lives that were taken from you… if they still exist. I’ve got a demon to kill… and I doubt either of you’d much like to join me.”

  “Y-you…,” the old man stuttered. “You’re not escorting us to the nearest village?”

  “No.”

  “That’s not right… you can’t do this,” he pleaded. “How can you do this?”

  “I do it because I can… believe me, old man, it is better this way.”

  “Have you no heart?” he asked, grabbing onto my sleeve. “I… I know who you are! I know what you are!”

  “You know nothing of what you speak.”

  “I may be a bumbling geezer that can’t even remember his own name,” he said, “but I do remember some of the old ways. I’ve heard the name… we all have. The lone warriors that protect men from the darkness… the ones who fight for those that cannot—.

  A coughing fit overtook him and he dropped to his knees in spasms. My heart went out to the old man, but I had a mission to complete, and these two would only be a hindrance in the scheme of things. For as much as I wanted to help them, they would have to fend for themselves.

  The old man was sick, there was no denying that. The real question though, was, could he survive without the dark ones caustic care anymore.