Tag Archives: horror

Undead Man’s Hand – Chapter 1

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Helena, Montana

May 5, 1876

Approximately Four Years Before the West Was Zombed.

“It’s not too late, law man. Just let me go and you won’t have to die.”

Seth Bullock, the young handsome sheriff of Lewis and Clark County, had been trying to get some shut-eye all night, but the prisoner in the cage in the back corner of his office wouldn’t allow it.

“You hear me, tin horn?” the prisoner asked. “My boys are coming for you.”

Bullock leaned back in his chair, threw his feet up on his desk, and tipped his hat over his eyes.

“You know Bullock when I shot at you, it wasn’t personal.”

“Whatever you say, Clell.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Nope,” Bullock said from underneath his hat. “You just decided it was more important to you that I die than you give up that horse you were rustling.”

“Just business,” Clell said. “Your shoulder still hurt?”

“Only when I do anything,” Bullock replied.

“Shit,” Clell said. “I’m sorry. But you think your shoulder is worth my life?”

Bullock took his feet off the desk and let his chair plop down. He brushed his hand through his brown hair then put his hat on.

The Sheriff looked over at his prisoner. Clell Watson’s eyes were bloodshot. His face was haggard as he hadn’t slept for days. Even criminals have worries.

“Verdict’s been rendered,” Bullock said. “Nothing personal.”

“God damn, Seth Bullock,” Clell said. “You got some big brass clackers I’ll give you that.”

The voices of angry men traveled from the street, through the air, and into Bullock’s ears. The Sheriff stood up, pulled his suspenders over his shoulders then stepped out onto the front porch of his office.

A dozen men were marching Bullock’s way, lighting up the night sky with blazing torches. Leading up the mob was Floyd Larson, the leader of a gang of rustlers who’d been pinching horses and cattle all over the Northwest.

“Sheriff!” Floyd shouted as he and his flunkies reached the office. “I’m calling you out!”

Bullock scoffed. If Floyd’s bellowing was supposed to scare him, it clearly wasn’t. “Go home Floyd.”

“Send out Clell and I will,” Floyd said.

“Can’t,” Bullock said. “He’s got a date with the hangman at dawn. The judge has spoken.”

Floyd’s face was grizzled. Leathery from too much time in the sun. And he had the kind of miserable voice that could cut through a man’s soul if he had to listen to it for too long.

“Thirteen versus one, Bullock,” Floyd said. “The odds aren’t in your favor. Let him go and we’ll let you live. Fuck around for much longer and we’ll skin you alive and take him anyway.”

“Aw son of a bitch,” Bullock said. “Well, when you put it that way.”

Bullock started for the door then stopped to look back at Floyd. “You promise if I bring him out, you won’t hurt me?”

“You’ve got my word,” Floyd said.

“God damn it. Hold on.”

Bullock retreated back into his office. Floyd and his boys chuckled and traded jokes about the sheriff’s manliness, implying that he was a pussy, a pansy, a wimp and so on.

A few minutes later, Bullock emerged from his office, but Clell wasn’t free. Rather, he had a gag in his mouth, a noose around his neck, and Bullock’s left hand on his shoulder, pushing him down the porch steps.

In Bullock’s right hand? One big ass double-barreled shotgun.

“What are you doing, Bullock?!” Floyd shouted.

“Get back!” Bullock flailed the shotgun around, making sure everyone of Floyd’s lackies got a good look at it. “First one to try anything loses his head.”

“We had a deal!” Floyd shouted.

“Fuck you and your deal,” Bullock replied. “All you did was move this shit heel’s hanging up six hours.”

Bullock moved the shotgun to his left hand, then took the noose off of Clell. Hanging from the side of the building was a metal pole that held a sign that read, “Seth Bullock: County Sherif.”

Said sheriff twirled the noose around in the air over his head three times then let it fly over the sign and watched it fall back down to the ground.

Floyd and his boys were restless. They kept looking for their opportunity. Bullock knew the second he let that shotgun drop an inch, they’d rush him. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

With the shotgun still pointed at the mob, Bullock put the noose back around Clell’s neck.

“Clell Watson,” Bullock said. “For the crimes of horse theft and shooting an officer of the law, you have been sentenced to death by hanging. Do you have any last words?”

Bullock removed Clell’s gag.

“Fuck your mother.”

“That was lovely,” Bullock said.

“Come on you fucking women!” Clell shouted. “Jump him! He can’t shoot all of you!”

Floyd was vexed. “Yeah but…he’ll shoot someone.”

Bullock grabbed the other end of the rope and pulled until Clell’s feet were dangling in the air. The prisoner’s eyes bugged out of his head as his face turned purple.

“Fuck…gack…fuck you, Floyd! So fucking…stupid!”

“Jesus Christ, Bullock,” Floyd said. “You could have just shot him and run out the back door.”

“Yeah,” Bullock said. “But what point would that have proved?”

Bullock whistled to signal Abner, his well-trained, intensely loyal horse. It took less than a minute for his loyal steed to gallop up to his owner from around back.

“You’re a dead man, Bullock,” Floyd warned. “A dead man!”

Bullock kept a tight grip on that rope, and an even tighter grip on that shotgun until Clell gasped his last breathe. Ever the professional, Bullock opted not to allow Clell to drop to the ground with a thud but rather, lowered the horse thief slowly until his body was on the ground.

The sheriff pointed his shotgun at the mob and mounted his horse.

“You just signed your own death warrant,” Floyd said. “I hope it was worth it.”

Bullock kept his shotgun pointed at the rabble. He kicked his spurs against Abner’s sides and his steed began to trot down the road.

“You know what?” Bullock asked. “It was.”

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How the West Was Zombed – Complete

 

shutterstock_32022656927Holy shit.

7 months.

136 Chapters and an Epilogue.

110,972 words.

And finally, after so many, many, many years of started and stopped attempts at a novel, I have finally, finally, FINALLY finished my first rough draft of a novel ever.

Plenty of work to go, but at this point, my characters came, saw, and did what they needed to do.

I can’t believe it.

There were so many times this year I thought this was a ridiculous waste of time. (I suppose the jury is still out on that.)

But I kept at it. And over time, the words added up.

Thank you, 3.5 readers. Your comments and clicks kept me going.

And thanks TA Henry. I grew to look forward to read your comments daily.  Even during times when it sounded like you wanted to reach through the computer and slap me, I realized it was only because you cared.

Time to rest up a bit. Relax. Chill out.  If you haven’t yet, please read it. Tell me what you think. What you like. What you don’t like.

I think I will let it sit for awhile and maybe even start a rough draft of Zombie Western #2 – Dead Man’s Hand (or possibly Undead Man’s Hand) before going back and rewriting the first draft.

Honestly, that was the hard part.  Realizing along the way that I goofed, or things in the beginning would need to be changed, and avoiding the temptation to rewrite but rather, just imagine in my mind that what I needed to happen just happened, for if you start rewriting, you’ll rewrite forever, because by the end of the story, you might change your mind about what needs to happen a hundred times.

Thank you 3.5 readers. You are truly great 3.5 readers. I can’t wait to publish this and sell it on Amazon and make a cool $10.47 ($2.99 X 3.5 readers = time well spent.)

 

 

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How the West Was Zombed – Epilogue

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Wisconsin

The hunter was a sturdy man with brown hair and a mustache. His spectacles made him look like he belonged in a library yet his frame was built for the frontier.

A rainstorm earlier that day turned the forest floor to mud. He trudged along for awhile until he saw it – a fresh bear track.

He knelt down and examined it. “Hmm. Yes.”

He pushed a finger into the dirt then sniffed it. “Fresh. You couldn’t have gotten far you rapscallion.”

The hunter rose to his feet and pressed on, deep into the forest, rifle in his hands at the ready.

Surrounded by nature, he felt at home. At peace. He stopped momentarily to close his eyes and allow the fresh air to fill his lungs. Alas, his respite was interrupted.

“Master Roosevelt!” called an old man. “Master Roosevelt!”

Disgusted, Roosevelt did his best to ignore his unexpected visitor and followed the line of bear tracks.

“Master Roosevelt!” the old man called. “Please take pity and slow your pace, sir!”

Roosevelt did no such thing. Eventually, the old man caught up to him and huffed and puffed as he struggled to keep up.

“How did you even find me, Humphrey?” Roosevelt asked.

“Your esteemed father, sir,” Humphrey answered. “He bid me to find for you and not to dare show my face at your family’s estate until I do so. I’ve made inquiries at every trading post and tavern in the vicinity until I finally met some fur traders who did some business with you and pointed me in this direction.”

“Blasted Frenchmen!” Roosevelt said. “And what news do you bring, man?”

Humphrey withdrew a crinkled up piece of paper from his pocket and started to read. “A letter from your father, sir. Dear Theodore…”

“Summarize the most salient points,” Roosevelt said.

“In short,” Humphrey said. “Your father bids that you cease these adventures that you are always going on, that you stop, and I quote, ‘trying to be the wild jungle man from Borneo’ and come home to take your place at the family business as you were always meant to.”

“Balderdash!” Roosevelt cried. He stopped, which provided Humphrey with great relief, as he needed a rest. “Look around you, Humphrey. Have you ever seen a land as beautiful as this?”

“It was beautiful for the first few moments, sir,” Humphrey said. “But between the multiple blisters on my feet and voluminous insect bites on my person, I must say the beauty has lost its appeal to me.”

Much to Humphrey’s chagrin, Roosevelt started walking again. Humphrey continued his pursuit.

“Well, you’ll just have to disappoint him, Humphrey,” Roosevelt said. “For I shall never return to New York. My home is here in the great outdoors.”

“Master Roosevelt,” Humphrey said. “Most assuredly, it is beyond my lowly station to say this but I have served you since you were a mere babe so might I inquire, am I wrong in feeling that you and I have a rapport that would allow me to speak freely?”

“You are correct in feeling that way, Humphrey,” Roosevelt said.

“Excellent,” Humphrey said. “Sir, might I then inquire as to whether or not these expeditions of yours are more about proving to the schoolyard bullies of your youth that you are no longer the asthmatic bookworm they so enjoyed making sport of and that you are instead, now a specimen of vim and vigor?”

“Of course not, Humphrey,” Roosevelt replied. “Don’t waste my time with such poppycock.”

“I apologize, sir,” Humphrey said. “My only point was that I hope you know that you have proven your worthiness to all who love you and therefore opinions of those from days long gone by should be of little consequence.”

“I’ve never given those ruffians a second thought,” Roosevelt said.

The forest floor ended and turned into a ten foot drop which in turn, became a steep embankment that went on for as far as the eye could see.

Humphrey persisted. “Even so sir, I must insist…”

“Shh!” Roosevelt spotted it. A majestic black bear resting on its hindquarters straight below.

Roosevelt dropped to the ground, flat on his stomach in a prone position.

“Please sir…”

Without taking his eyes off his prey, the hunter reached up, grabbed hold of Humphrey’s coat and pulled on it until the old man relented and joined his master in the muck.

“Sir, your father will be very cross…”

“Not another word,” Roosevelt whispered angrily.

The hunter trained the sights of his rifle at the bear’s head.

“I’ve got you now, bear.”

Roosevelt pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing. His gun was jammed.

“Blast,” Roosevelt said as he stood up.

“Most unfortunate, sir,” Humphrey said. “But if we could now make our way to the nearest train station…”

Roosevelt drew a long knife out of a sheath on his belt, then rested his free hand on his man servant’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Humphrey.”

Without giving it a second thought, Roosevelt threw himself off the cliff and landed on his quarry’s back.

The bear roared as Roosevelt grabbed hold of its fur. “I’ll have none of your back-sass, bear!”

Roosevelt raised his knife high in the air only to drop it when the bear bucked about wildly. The hunter held on with all his might until the bear reared backward and threw his attacker off.

The bear hauled a paw back and swiped at Roosevelt, who rolled out of the way just in time.

Roosevelt rolled up his sleeves and took a boxer’s stance. “Ahh, so it’s fisticuffs, is it?”

The bear rose up on its hind lags to stand at its full length, then slapped its two front paws down at Roosevelt, who dodged certain death yet again.

“You’ve asked for it now, bear!” Roosevelt shouted as he landed a punch right into the bear’s nose. “Don’t say you weren’t warned!”

The bear’s roar echoed throughout the forest. It’s teeth were sharp. It’s breath reeked. Roosevelt was unfazed as he sailed an upper cut right into the bear’s jaw, followed by a good solid left hook.

“Relent, bear!” Roosevelt shouted. “This will only get worse for you!”

The bear charged. Roosevelt ducked out of the way then grabbed hold of the bear’s side and climbed onto its back.

The embankment grew steeper and steeper. The bear kept running until it reached such a fast pace that it was unable to stop. With Roosevelt holding on for dear life, the bear just kept running until…SMASH!

The bear’s face planted into the side of a brick wall. Its neck snapped. Its body collapsed. It was no more.

Roosevelt inspected his kill. Moments later, Humphrey arrived on the scene.

“Oh Master Roosevelt! Thank goodness you’re all right.”

“What do you think, Humphrey?” Roosevelt asked. “Shall I just mount the head on the wall in my den next to the wild boar or turn the entire carcass into a lovely throw rug?”

“Your wall is already cluttered with many the head of a wild beast, sir,” Humphrey said. “And I thought you said you weren’t going home.”

“I never said I wouldn’t visit.”

Roosevelt looked up at the wall. It went on farther than he could see.

“Humphrey?”

“Yes sir?”

“What in God’s name is this monstrosity?”

“Oh yes,” Humphrey said. “You’ve been away from civilization for quite some time. You see, the West has been zombed sir and…”

“What?” Roosevelt asked. “It’s been what?”

“Zombed,” Humphrey repeated. “Filled with dead men who continue to walk long after they’ve expired.”

Roosevelt squinted his eyes at Humphrey. “Preposterous!”

“Indeed, yet quite true, sir.”

Roosevelt looked around. Hundreds of workmen hustled about, carrying tools, bricks, lumber and building materials. Twenty feet down the wall, a large scaffold had been erected and workers were building the wall even taller.

The hunter and his servant walked along the side of the wall for awhile until they saw two soldiers manning a post at the top of the wall.

“Hold on,” Roosevelt said. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. You there!”

The first guard turned around. “Who goes there?”

“Theodore Roosevelt,” the hunter replied. “As a citizen of these United States, I demand to know what’s going on!”

“Fuck off,” was the first guard’s reply.

Outraged, Roosevelt grabbed a long ladder that was resting against the side of the wall and straightened it so that it reached where the two guards were standing.

“Hold it steady, Humphrey!”

“Master Roosevelt, I do not think this is such a good idea.”

As he watched his master climb up the ladder, Humphrey gave up on arguing and held the ladder with both hands.

Roosevelt reached the top of the wall and stood up. “Gentlemen. This fortification has blocked my passage to the Mississippi River. I demand you remove it at once!”

“Can’t,” the first guard replied.

“Why not?” Roosevelt asked.

“Zombies,” the second guard said.

“Zombies?” Roosevelt asked.

The first guard handed Roosevelt a spy glass. “Have a look see.”

Roosevelt peered through the spy glass at the shoreline, where three particularly disgusting zombies tromped toward the wall. The guards opened fire, bursting their hideous heads open.

“You’re killing them!” Roosevelt said.

“They’re already dead,” the first guard said.

“We’re just putting them out of their misery,” the second guard added.

“My word,” Roosevelt said. “In all my life I have never seen such wretched creatures. How did this happen?”

“I haven’t got the time or the patience to explain it to you,” the first guard said.

“Help!”

Roosevelt looked through the spy glass again. A young couple, a man and a woman, drifted across the river on a raft made out of logs tied together.

“Turn back!” the first guard shouted.

“We can’t!” the young man shouted from his raft. “There’s fucking zombies over there!”

The first guard fired a warning shot that landed in the water a foot away from the raft. “The next one’s at your head!”

“What are you doing, man?” Roosevelt asked. “Those people are in need of help!”

“We’ve got our orders,” the first guard said. “Everyone from across the river is either a zombie or a suspected zombie and is to be treated as such. No exceptions.”

“This is an outrage,” Roosevelt said.

“Climb back down or we’ll throw you off,” the second guard said.

“No,” Roosevelt said. “Sirs, I shall have you know that as a member in good standing of the Republican party, I protest what you are doing here.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” the first guard said. “A Republican!”

“Bunch of bleeding heart do-gooders,” the second guard said.

“Yes!” Roosevelt said. “Bleeding heart do-gooders are we, for the Grand Ole Party carries the mantle of Lincoln, who fought boldly and gave his life to abolish the dreadful institution of slavery. Our party cares so much for the downtrodden masses that we lobbied for equal rights protections for them in the Constitution.”

“I don’t got all day to listen to your Republican nonsense,” the first guard sense.

“And yet listen to it you shall, sir,” Roosevelt said. “For the Republicans have earned their status as champions of all poor, unfortunate souls and so ingrained is our place in the American psyche that I dare say that even one hundred and fifty years from now, whenever people ask, ‘Who will help those in the minority?’ the answer will most assuredly be, ‘the Republican party!'”

“I’ve heard enough,” the first guard said. “Down you go.”

“This is not right, sir,” Roosevelt said. “The people across that wall need our assistance. The proper response for government is to utilize its resources to help them, not to build a wall and turn them away.”

The guards pointed their guns at Roosevelt.

“Fine!” Roosevelt started to climb down the ladder, but not without adding. “But do not think for one moment you have heard the last word about this from me, sirs!”

Moments later, Roosevelt reached the ground. He did not skip a beat. He stormed off. Humphrey followed.

“Something amiss, sir?”

Roosevelt turned around, stared at the wall, and tossed his hands into the air. “I have now found my true purpose in life, Humphrey. As God as my witness, I shall rise through the ranks of politics, ascending even to the Presidency of the United States if need be and I shall not rest until this wall has been torn down and the full might of our army is dispatched to bring an end to all zombies from sea to shining sea.”

“A most noble calling, sir,” Humphrey said.

“Indeed,” Roosevelt said as he walked away. “Skin my bear and meet me at the nearest train station, will you?”

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 136

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“I can’t,” Slade said. “I’m sorry. I made a promise to someone important to me that I’d try to die with my boots on.”

Earp smirked. “Noble thought. Easier said than done. Who’d you promise that to?”

“My Deputy.”

“Gunther Beauregard?”

“You know him?” Slade asked.

“Our paths crossed a few times,” Earp said. “Good man. I was sorry to hear he died. Forty years as a U.S. Marshal and he never once demanded credit, hogged the attention or even sought a promotion. Never bothered a man unless he bothered him first. If there were more Gunther Beauregards in the world, my job would become unnecessary and you wouldn’t hear a complaint from me.”

Earp stood up. Everyone else followed.

“I’m sorry,” Slade said. “You came all this way for nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Earp said as he picked up the star.

Earp tipped his hat at Miss Bonnie. “Ma’am.”

“Marshal,” she replied.

Earp slapped Tobias on the shoulder. “It’s that hat or pussy, son. Make a choice because you’ll never have both.”

Slade picked up the deck of cards then walked Earp outside, where the greatest lawman in the West’s horse was tied to a post.

“Funny thing you said about pussy,” Slade said. “You must think I’m one.”

“Oh hell no, Slade,” Earp said. “I don’t think anyone can call the man who stopped the United States from being overthrown by a damn vampire and his army of zombies a pussy. Practical is more like it and now that I know you spent some time with Gunther it makes sense.”

“I just don’t want to disappoint you,” Slade said. “The last ten years since I became a Marshal, all I’ve ever done is try to be like you.”

Earp scoffed. “Shit. Don’t be like me. Even I don’t want to be like me.”

Slade looked Earp in the eye. “You ever feel like, when you do this job, that you’re at war with who you are on the inside and who you need to be on the outside in order to win?”

“Nope,” Earp replied. “If a man deserves it, I’ll shoot him dead then fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.”

“I try to pretend I’m like that,” Slade said. “But every man I’ve ever shot deserved it and they all haunt me. I used to walk around pretending like they don’t. Sometimes I feel like I still need to.”

Earp put his hand out. Slade shook it.

“Good,” Earp said. “Then there’s hope for you yet.”

Hope. That was a big word for Slade. He was once convinced he was out of it, but now he was feeling like he had it more and more every day. Even a man he admired saw it in him.

Earp continued. “Sure, when we all start out in the Marshal’s service, a lot of men have to pretend like they breathe fire and shit daggers but once they earn their reputation as a good law man, they can act however they want. You foiled a Legion plot that was years in the making, Slade. You’ve earned the right to just be yourself.”

Slade let out a sigh of relief as though Earp’s words brought him great comfort. “Do you really shit daggers?”

“Sure do,” Earp replied. “Makes a mess out of the outhouse.”

Earp took the star in his hand and pinned it to Slade’s shirt.

“But I…”

“While you’re talking about yourself,” Earp said. “Let me tell you about a side of yourself you haven’t met yet. See, my brothers and I all agreed that once we retired from the law and left Dodge City, we were never going to pick up a star ever again. We were going to become businessmen in Tombstone and live the good life. We did our part. We earned some happiness. But sure enough, just when you think you’ve left all the assholes behind you, new ones arise, dirtier and smellier than ever. And try as you might to say that you don’t give a shit, that it’s not your problem, you know deep down inside that you care and sooner or later, you’ll pick up that star and fight those assholes again because if you don’t, no one else will.”

Slade looked at the star, then back to Earp.

“Do what you please with it, Slade,” Earp said. “Wear it on your shirt proudly. Take it off, throw it in a drawer and never look at it again. Live your life. Love your woman. Love your young’un. But on top of the vampires, zombies and werewolves, there are still plenty of human shit heels who will be happy to attack this nice town you’ve got here and when that day comes, you’ll need to do what you need to do. That star will make it nice and legal, whatever that means these days.”

Earp untied his horse then climbed up into the saddle. Slade shuffled through the deck and held up the Chairman’s card.

“Marshal Earp,” Slade said.

Earp corrected him. “Wyatt.”

“Wyatt,” Slade said. “Get the rest of them and I’ll ride with you against him.”

Earp tipped his hat at Slade. “I’ll hold you to that.”

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 134

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Earp’s mood turned somber as he laid out his tale of woe.

“Four years ago I was the Marshal of Dodge City,” Earp said. “A woman came to see me. Rode in all the way from the Dakota Territory. Real ornery gal. I’d never seen anyone like her before. She drank, cussed, and wore trousers like a man. You ever meet a woman who never got the message that she doesn’t have a pecker?”

“I might have,” Slade said, which instantly earned him an elbow to the ribs from Miss Bonnie.

“Martha Jane Cannary was her name,” Earp said. “‘Calamity Jane’ they called her because she was one. A walking catastrophe. Spun me a yarn about people with pointy teeth who suck blood, hairy dog men and dead people who get up and walk around again.”

Earp removed a deck of playing cards from his pocket and shuffled them. “She was drunker than a skunk. Didn’t carry herself well. I thought she was insane though honestly, had a more reputable person told me the same story I doubt I would have believed him either.”

“I didn’t believe it at first,” Slade said.

“You ever hear the story about how Wild Bill Hickok died?” Earp asked.

“Everyone has,” Slade said. “Shot in the back by the coward Jack McCall.”

“True,” Earp said. “And yet, there was so much more to it. It was a hit. An assassination orchestrated by the Legion Corporation because he was onto their evil plans long before any of us were.”

“Shit,” Slade said.

“Shit indeed,” Earp replied. “And when Jane came to me as Hickok’s business partner and friend for my help, I laughed in her face. I’ll bear that shame forever.”

Earp sat the deck down on the table. “But at least I can spread her warning to others now. You ever hear about the hand Hickok was holding when he met his untimely demise?”

“Ooo!” Miss Bonnie said. “Aces over eights.”

“The dead man’s hand,” Earp said. “Said to be the most cursed hand in the game of poker because if you end up with it, you best avoid making Wild Bill’s mistake and start looking behind your back to see what evil is coming for you.”

Earp drew a card from the deck. “But those weren’t the most important cards that Bill was holding that day.”

The greatest lawmen in the history of the West laid the card he drew down on the table, face up. On it, there was the usual markings for the King of Hearts card, but instead of a King, there was a portrait of a vampire Slade knew.

“Recognize him?” Earp asked.

“Blythe,” Slade said.

“You sure he’s dead?” Earp asked.

“Burned to ash,” Slade answered.

Earp picked up the pencil he smacked out of Tobias’ hands and drew an X over Blythe’s face.

“Good,” Earp said. “Now this is no ordinary deck of cards. Hickock was a renowned gambler, as quick with an ace as he was on the draw. So when his investigation led him to identify the key players behind the Legion Corporation’s nefarious doings, he had their portraits printed on the face cards of a deck of his own. Figured that would help prevent the supernaturals from discovering that he was onto them. Had he ever been searched by a lawman on Legion’s take, a deck of cards in the pocket of a poker player wouldn’t have turned a head.”

“Might have if they looked at the cards,” Slade noted.

“A risk Hickok was willing to take, I suppose,” Earp said. “This deck was given to me by Jane. She had several copies printed based on Hickok’s design. Since the heinous events of last year, I’ve had even more printed and I have left them at every two-bit gin joint, saloon and whorehouse around in the hopes of robbing these criminal creatures of their ability to hide in plain sight.”

Earp drew another card. “Hickok and Jane got me started, and since your heroics, I have shaken down every source and called in every favor owed to me to build a cursory understanding of Legion’s power structure.”

The great lawman laid the card in his hand next to the X-ed out portrait of Blythe. This portrait was of an attractive blonde woman with an icy glare.

“Lady Beatrice Rutledge,” Earp said. “Some kind of British aristocrat. The Vice-Chairwoman of Legion Corporation’s Board of Directors. Word is that this bitch and Blythe were the brains of the operation. They may or may not have been fucking, I have no idea, but they had some sort of sneaky alliance going on. Scumbags have a tendency to turn on each other, you see, and they were working all the angles, getting ready to take the Corporation for themselves and cut out the rest of the board as soon as they took over the country.”

“Lucky they didn’t,” Slade said.

“Thanks to you,” Earp said. The great lawman stared off into space for a moment, then came around. “Shit.”

“What?” Miss Bonnie asked.

“Aww Jane told me that this she-vamp worked some kind of magic to put Hickok under her control,” Earp said. “I didn’t believe it until I heard about the bullshit with your doctor friend’s so-called Miracle Cure-All. Now I don’t know. I hope it’s not true. Hickok deserves better than that.”

Earp threw down a third card. The portrait was of a muscular looking bald man.

“Oscar Cross. The Jack of Hearts.”

Slade did a double-take. “The Senator from Missouri?!”

“The same,” Earp said. “This shit runs deep, Slade. Politician. Banker.”

“I met him once,” Slade said. “He came through Highwater. Introduced himself. Hell, one of his banks was in Highwater.”

Earp picked up another card and laid it down. The portrait was of a handsome rogue with a curl that hanged down over his forehead.

“Like I said, they hide in plain sight,” Earp explained. “Don’t feel bad. I met this cocksucker on more than one occasion. The one and only Guy Oleander.”

Tobias perked up. “The author?”

“That’s him,” Earp said. “The King of Diamonds. Popular with the ladies. Frequenter of the card tables. Hell, the son of a bitch offered to write my biography for a tidy sum. I probably should have taken the deal.”

“I’ve read his books,” Tobias said. “Now I’ll have to throw them out.”

Earp plunked down another card. This one had the image of a man in his fifties. Dark hair. Beard. Widow’s peak.

“Lawrence Murphy,” Earp said. “Big time cattle rancher out of New Mexico. Controls the Lincoln County machine. Try to do business in their backyard without their blessing and they’ll chop your balls off and feed them to you.”

Next, Earp laid out two cards. One contained a portrait of a physically fit man with short hair and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. The other featured an old man with white hair and spectacles that he looked down over the edge of his nose.

“A couple more Missourian vampires who operated right under your nose, Slade,” Earp said. “The Jack of Clubs. Cornelius Edgemont…”

Slade couldn’t help but interrupt. “Edgemont Security is in on this?”

“You better believe it,” Earp said. “Edgemont told the world he’d tame the West with his highly trained and thoroughly disciplined Edgemont men. There isn’t a banker or a socialite who hasn’t hired the services of an Edgemont man to protect their valuables. Now it’s become clear that Edgemont was building his own private army all along. And since the die has been cast, the Edgemont men will have to decide whether they’ll side with humans or vampires.”

“They’ll go with whoever pays them,” Miss Bonnie said.

“You got it, ma’am,” Earp said as he pointed to the second card. “And what about this old scoundrel? The King of Clubs.”

“Should I know him?” Slade asked.

“Maybe not his face,” Earp said. “But you know his name. “That’s the Right Honorable Judge Francis Sturtevant, the highest ranking judge in Missouri. You almost croaked when the bridge that was named after him was blown to smithereens.”

“Fuck,” Slade said.

“Fucking right,” Earp replied. “All roads lead to Missouri on this one, Slade. Through a system of corruption and graft, Blythe, Cross, Edgemont and Sturtevant conspired for years to get that bridge built not so that their Legion train line could move more smoothly, but to transport zombies across the Mississippi and all the way to Washington, D.C. Even got the bridge named after one of their own. It almost worked. The only hangup they never considered was you.”

Earp reviewed the cards he’d assembled thus far. “So we’ve got Blythe the counselor, never to rear his ugly head again. Then we have Rutledge, Cross, Oleander, Murphy, Edgemont and Sturtevant. Gentlemen and Lady, I give you the board of directors of the Legion Corporation. Prim and proper folk who held themselves out as respectable citizens all the while plotting to tear America asunder.”

“Motley looking crew,” Slade said. “But there’s six of them. What if there’s a tie?”

Earp held up a joker’s card but instead of a fool, it contained the face of a vicious looking ram with pointed teeth and long curly horns.

“There’s actually seven,” Earp said. “The Chairman breaks all ties. And you know who that is.”

“I do,” Slade said. “I was warned not to speak his name. Though a vampire gave me that advice…”

Earp finished Slade’s thought. “It’s still good advice. Now, let’s talk about the associates.”

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 132

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A month later, Fiddler’s Gulch was bustling with new life. As Slade walked down the main thoroughfare, he could see construction everywhere. Hammers pounding nails. Saws cutting wood. People working together to restore old shops and houses and even build new ones.

His better half had already opened up a new joint. He leaned up against the sign that read, “Miss Bonnie’s” and waited awhile. The door was open, so he poked his head in.

Miss Bonnie was looking as appetizing as ever. She dressed plainly, but had put a blue flower in her hair.

“Now girls,” Miss Bonnie said. “What is the most important thing for a woman to do?”

Miss Bonnie looked around the room. Her students sat at their desks. They were mostly young, in their teens and twenties, but there were a few in their thirties and even one or two that had some gray hair.

No one answered. Slade took a seat on a bench outside the school. When he sat, the other half of the sign was revealed. “School for Wayward Females.”

The wind carried the class discussion to Slade’s ears. He listened and smiled.

“Oh come on,” Miss Bonnie said. “We talked about this.”

“Take care of her man?” Maureen asked.

“Wrong!” Miss Bonnie bellowed. “Ten demerits, Maureen. Alice?”

“Be pretty,” Alice said. “So she can catch a man.”

Slade heard the disappointment in Miss Bonnie’s voice. “You’ve failed me miserably, Alice. Just sit there and think about what you’ve done. Jessica.”

“I know,” Jessica said. “Learn to cook and sew and clean so her man will be happy.”

“Jessica,” Miss Bonnie said. “A life is a long time to spend scrubbing out a man’s shitty britches. Is that what you want for yourself? Huh?”

“No,” Jessica replied.

“I didn’t think so.”

Realizing this show was too good to miss, Slade poked his head into the doorway again.

Miss Bonnie scrawled three words on the chalk board.

“Now everyone repeat after me…make that money!”

Teacher and students repeated this mantra a few more times until Miss Bonnie held up a shiny silver tipped bullet.

“This,” she said. “It’s the new currency now and the more of them you have, the better off you’ll be. I’m not saying don’t find a good man or fall in love, but the more of these you have, the more options you’ll have and the less you’ll have to put up with being treated like the shit under a man’s shoes.”

“This,” she said as she waved the bullet around for everyone to see. “Gives you the power to walk away, girls. And you never want to be without the power to walk away.”

Jessica raised her hand. “How do we get those?”

“Ooo,” Alice said as she raised her hand. “I know. We can all become.…ladies of the evening.”

Giggles ensued. Miss Bonnie pointed at Alice. “A year ago I’d of told you you’re right but now you’re wrong.”

“Well what else can we do to make money?” Maureen asked.

“Anything,” Miss Bonnie said. “If you’re good at something, then do it…for money. If you’re good at sewing, sew for money. If you’re good at cooking, cook for money. Find a skill. Do something productive. Get paid for it.”

“Ooo,” Jessica said as she waved her had around. “What if the men tell us to stop?”

“Jesus Christ,” Miss Bonnie said. “Have I taught you girls nothing? Tell them to fuck off!”

Alice appeared scandalized. “Miss Bonnie! This is subversive talk!”

“Yeah well, this is a subversive class,” Miss Bonnie said. “And it’s free so stop complaining. All right, that’s it for today. Remember, next week we’re going to talk about how to protect yourself from men, the zombie kind who want your brains and the pervert kind who want your…well, we’ll get into that later. Class dismissed.”

Slade watched as the students filed out the door. His beloved followed in a slow waddle, then plopped down next to him and started rubbing her belly.

“Oof. This varmint is taking her sweet time.”

“Interesting class, school marm,” Slade said.

“It’s a new world,” Miss Bonnie said. “Maybe some good can come out of it.”

Slade and Miss Bonnie snuggled up close.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Miss Bonnie said.

“You’ll pay me to talk?” Slade asked. “Times have changed.”

“Out with it,” Miss Bonnie said. “I can tell something’s eating at you.”

“Tobias.”

“What about him?”

“What do we think about him?”

“‘We?’” Miss Bonnie asked.

“You’re my advisor in all matters now,” Slade said.

“Shit,” Miss Bonnie said. “What did I do to deserve such a terrible position?”

Slade rolled his eyes.

“He seems nice,” Miss Bonnie said. “He looks like you, has a lot of similarities but…”

“What?” Slade asked.

“He’s positive,” Miss Bonnie said. “And you’re…”

“Not,” Slade said.

“You’re getting better,” Miss Bonnie said. “You’ve come a long way but there are times when you are so depressing you could make a laughing hyena want to hang itself.”

“Thanks,” Slade said.

“I said you’re getting better,” Miss Bonnie repeated.

Slade ran his fingers through Miss Bonnie’s hair and privately relished the joy of being able to do so whenever he wanted now, free of charge.

“He’s young,” Miss Bonnie said. “And a bit dopey. But he has obviously spent most of his life building you up in his head and he clearly worships the ground that you walk on.”

“So the old man gives me the shaft and this kid…”

“What?” Miss Bonnie asked.

“Gets the life I should have had,” Slade said.

Miss Bonnie sighed. “Was that his fault?”

“No,” Slade said.

“And did a psychopath try to feed you to a zombie when you were twenty?” Miss Bonnie asked.

“No.”

“So maybe he hasn’t exactly had the best of luck either,” Miss Bonnie said. “But somehow he keeps a happy face anyway. You could learn from him.”

Slade grunted.

“And he could toughen up a bit,” Miss Bonnie said. “He could learn from you. Him as the Mayor, you as…”

“Don’t say it.”

“The Marshal,” Miss Bonnie said.

“I’m retired,” Slade said.

“Fine,” Miss Bonnie said. “As whatever you want to be. Point is, together, you two could do this town some good.”

“I guess,” Slade said.

“And it’s not as if there’s been a line of people showing up to love either of us in our lives,” Miss Bonnie said. “So if someone’s willing to be your brother…”

“I should take it,” Slade said.

“Hey!”

The conversation was cut short by Tobias, who was running like a mad man down the street with one hand on his hat to keep it from falling off. “Rain!”

“Speak of the devil,” Rain said.

“Rain!” Tobias stopped when he reached the couple and leaned his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “You got to….see this.”

Slade stood. Miss Bonnie tried to but her little one had other plans. She let out another “oof” then sat back down and bid Slade to see whatever it was without her.

Together, Slade and Tobias ran through town, past all the hustle and bustle of a patch of desert that was thriving with new life.

“It’s him,” Tobias said. “It’s really him.”

“Who?” Slade asked.

“It’s… you’ve got to see!”

The Slades reached the edge of town, where the buildings stopped and the endless sand began. Out in the desert, a lone rider approached. He wore a long duster and from his hat to his boots, he was dressed all in black.

To top it all off, he had one hell of a mustache.

“It’s him, isn’t?” Tobias asked.

Slade grunted.

A few moments later, the rider brought his horse to a stop, then dismounted. He walked towards the Slade brothers with great confidence, as if they weren’t worthy of his presence.

The rider’s face was mean, so mean that one look could have dropped a horsefly at a hundred paces. He stood there silently for a bit and chewed on the wad of his tobacco in his mouth, then spit the juice out on the ground.

“Marshal Earp,” Slade said.

“Marshal Slade,” the rider replied.

“Oh,” Slade said. “I’m not a Marshal anymore.”

“So I heard,” Earp said. “We need to change that.”

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 131

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“How long has he been like this?” Slade asked.

“Three months,” Tobias said. “A whole herd tore through town and he got bit.”

Lars had been chained to the bed. His eyes were blank. His body had been ravaged, whether from age, or zombification, Slade wasn’t sure, but he assumed a combination of both.

A red bandana covered his mouth, but his teeth scraped together as Slade took a step closer.

As he reviewed his father’s condition, he had but one question for Tobias. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Tobias said. “I was hoping maybe he’d change back to normal. Maybe this was temporary, like when you get sick and then you get better.”

Lars growled loudly and attempted to sit up but his chains held him down.

“Then when I realized that wasn’t going to happen I…I just couldn’t do it.”

Slade watched as his father tossed about.

“Everyday I woke up and told myself this will be the day that I take care of it,” Tobias said. “But I never do.”

Slade pulled Gunther’s knife out of its sheath, then approached the bed. “You ok with this?”

Tobias’ eyes welled up. “Yes…it should be family but…I don’t want to watch.”

He headed for the door, but stopped to say, “Love you, Pa.” Then he left.

Slade’s eyes were just as teary as his brother’s. He grabbed a clump of his father’s hair to hold his head steady, poked the knife into his father’s ear, then pushed. Hard.

“Love you, Pa.”

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 130

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Slade’s childhood home was just as he remembered it. Small and cozy, not entirely sturdy. The floorboards creaked as he and Miss Bonnie followed Tobias inside and took seats around a table.

Tobias rummaged around in a drawer for awhile, then pulled out a dusty scrapbook and set it in front of Slade.

Miss Bonnie looked over Slade’s shoulder as he turned the pages. They were filled with yellow, weathered newspaper articles.

“Marshal Slade Foils Stage Coach Heist”

“Scooter Givens Brought to Justice Thanks to Marshal Slade.”

“Governor Credits Marshal Slade in Ending Bank Robbery Spree”

It went on and on.

“Kinda starts to add up when you see it all together,” Slade said.

“You’ve been through some shit,” Miss Bonnie noted.

Tobias looked over Slade’s other shoulder and rattled off the cities mentioned in the articles. “Denver, Carson City, Omaha, Dodge City, boy howdy, the Marshal’s Service sent you everywhere!”

“Why’d they send you to Highwater?” Miss Bonnie asked. “Were they punishing you for something?”

“I asked for the post,” Slade said. “Thought it’d be quiet.”

Slade flipped through the pages. “Who made this?”

“Pa,” Tobias said.

“Don’t recall him being much of a reader,” Slade said.

“No he doesn’t know his letters,” Tobias said. “But my Ma used to read the paper to him and then when the fever got her I started reading it to him.”

Slade grunted. “Hmm.”

Tobias grunted back, but his was more in the form of a question. “Hmm?”

“Did you write letters to me for him?” Slade asked.

“I sure did,” Tobias said. “Every time there was an article about you in the paper, he was so proud he’d tell me what he wanted to say and I’d write it down and clean it up and send it to the Marshal’s office in the city you were in.”

Slade grunted again. “Hmm. I knew he must have had some help. Those letters seemed way too…”

“Poetic?” Tobias asked. “Flowery?”

“I was going to say intelligent.”

“Hmm,” Tobias grunted.

These grunts were not lost on Miss Bonnie. She reached over and grabbed Tobias’ fancy Mayor hat.

“Can I just…” She slid it off to reveal that like Slade, Tobias had a thick mane of brown hair.

“Oh my God,” Miss Bonnie said as she yanked Slade’s hat off to reveal his hair. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Slade and Tobias eyeballed each other and grunted in unison, “Hmm.”

“The old man never mentioned you in those letters,” Slade said.

“No,” Tobias replied. “I asked him to but he was worried you’d be sore if you found out he remarried. He…”

Slade closed the scrapbook.

“He told me about what happened,” Tobias said. “What he did. Hell, he never let on but I heard him up late crying about it most nights.”

“Where is he?” Slade asked.

Tobias said as he sprang out of his chair. “Come on! You got to see him.”

Slade looked at Miss Bonnie. “Go on,” she said. “Get reacquainted first then I’ll say hello.”

Tobias led the way upstairs. The rickety stairs creaked all the way.

They reached a door and Tobias put his hand on the knob.

“Wait,” he said. “There’s something I ought to tell you first.”

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 129

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Slade had been using his regular voice for a year, but now the rasp was back with a vengeance.

“Who the fuck are you?” Sawbuck asked.

It’d been twenty years since Slade had last seen Sawbuck. The outlaw’s hair had turned gray. His face was wrinkled and leathery, but Slade still recognized him.

Slade puffed on his cigar. “I’m the man that’s going to kill you.”

“Is that so?” Sawbuck asked.

“Yup,” Slade replied.

Clovis and Slim wrenched their hooks out of the zombie, allowing it to drop to the ground. They stepped aside.

“Do I know you, bushwacker?” Sawbuck asked.

“Nope,” Slade replied. “But I know you.”

Sawbuck sneered and tossed Tobias aside. “Lots of people know me. You a bounty hunter?”

“Nope,” Slade replied.

“The law?”

“Nope,” Slade said.

“Then who the hell are you?” Sawbuck asked.

“An interested party,” Slade said.

“Huh,” Sawbuck said. “Well, Mr. Interested Party, if you want to challenge me, it’s your funeral. Here are the rules. You step back fifty paces that-a-way. I’ll step fifty paces back and on the count of three we…”

“Draw,” Slade said as he raised his rifle and shot Sawbuck right through the throat. The outlaw’s face could not contain his shock as he collapsed.

Along his journey, Slade managed to find two Colt pistols to replace the one he’d lost. He dropped his rifle, then drew one of the pistols and walked over to Sawbuck’s carcass and kicked him over onto his back.
Sawbuck clutched his throat as blood sprayed out of it.

“The…rules!”

The last thing Sawbuck ever saw was Slade pointing his Colt at his face.

The last thing Sawbuck ever heard?

“You don’t get rules.”

One…two…three…four…five…six.

Sawbuck was beyond dead and his face was the same consistency of raw hamburger.

“Hey!” Clovis yelled.

Annoyed, Slade holstered his empty pistol, then drew a fully loaded one and pointed it at Clovis and Slim, who instantly threw their hands up.

“Oh shit!” Clovis shouted as he and his hefty accomplice beat a trail out of town.

Slade holstered his pistol and stared down at Sawbuck’s corpse until Miss Bonnie joined him.

“Feel any better?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Did you think you would?”

“Kinda.”

“I’m sorry,” Miss Bonnie said.

“It’s ok.”

“I thought you weren’t going to use that dumb raspy voice anymore,” Miss Bonnie said.

Slade returned to his regular tone. “Oh. Right.”

Tobias dusted himself off. “Holy shit, Mister! I never thought I’d see the day that someone stood up to Sawbuck Sam. Thank you.”

The young mayor stretched out his hand. Slade took it and tried not to stare at top of Tobias’ ridiculous hat as it flopped up and down during the handshake.

“You travelers or something?” Tobias asked.

“Traveled all the way to be here,” Slade said.

Tobias smiled. “More people? This town sure could use them.”

“Good,” Slade said as he picked up his rifle.

“What’s your name, friend?” Tobias asked.

“Slade. Rainer Slade.”

Tobias didn’t just smile. He glowed. He wrapped his arms around Slade and attached himself to his new hero like a barnacle.

Slade and Bonnie traded confused looks.

“Welcome home, brother!” Tobias cried.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 128

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“You stupid hayseeds have no idea how much you need me, do you?” Sawbuck asked the townsfolk.

“Thirty years,” Sawbuck said. “Three decades I’ve been volunteering my protection for you pathetic suckers and this is how I am repaid.”

The outlaw kicked Tobias in the gut, knocking him onto his back in the dirt.

“Sawbuck,” Tobias said as he stared up at the sky. “It was all my idea. Just let everyone go and let me have it.”

“That’d be too easy,” Sawbuck said. He turned to his lackies. “Bring it out, boys.”

Clovis and Slim went to the back of the wagon and before long they were carrying out a rolled up blanket, roughly six feet in length. On top of the blanket were two long wooden poles with sharp metal hooks on the end.

And it was groaning.

Tobias attempted to lift himself up to see what was going on, but felt down and landed on his side.

Clovis and Slim rolled out the blanket to reveal a restrained zombie. It was a male about thirty years old, dead at least six months. His arms had been hacked off, but his legs still worked. His mouth had a thick piece of rope in it, keeping him from biting, which from the growls he was making, he clearly wanted to bite someone badly.

“You know folks,” Sawbuck said. “For the longest time, I’ve been asking myself, ‘What can I do to make those stupid fucks in Fiddler’s Gulch take me seriously?’”

Clovis and Slim picked the zombie up. Clovis picked up a pole, stabbed it into the zombie’s back and caught his ribs with the hook. Slim did the same.

“I’ve shot so many of you that I lost count,” Sawbuck said. “Shooting you dummies just isn’t doing the trick anymore. So I thought about it. What can I do to impress upon you morons that I’m the boss and I am not to be fucked with?”

Sawbuck grabbed Tobias and lifted him up on his feet.

“And then I met my new friend here,” Sawbuck said as he pointed to the zombie. “And I knew I’d come up with a better way to convince you hicks to do your duty.”

The chains around his legs kept the zombie from walking. It writhed and struggled, but Clovis and Slim held on with their hooks.
“Jesus, Sawbuck,” Tobias said. “Can I pick getting trampled by your horse, instead?”

“That’d be too good for you,” Sawbuck said. “I…”

The sound of wagon wheels and galloping horses interrupted Sawbuck’s words. The outlaw looked down the road to see a wagon train entering town. In the lead wagon sat a redhead and a man with a beard.

“This some kind of trick, boy?” Sawbuck asked.

“No,” Tobias said.

“What is this?”

“I don’t know,” Tobias said. “I swear!”

“Listen up, rubes!” Sawbuck shouted. “From now on, anyone who is man enough to challenge me should challenge me. And if you’re too yellow, then shut the fuck up and start doing what I tell you or be ready to get eaten up and shit out by my pet!”

Sawbuck gripped Tobias’ arm tightly then walked toward the zombie. Clovis undid the rope and the zombie’s teeth chomped up and down until…

Pow. A bullet opened up the back of the zombie’s head. It fell dead, slumping like an unused puppet on the poles held by Clovis and Slim.

Slade slang racked up another bullet in his rifle, then slang it over his shoulder.

“I challenge you.”

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