Tag Archives: wild west

Feb 22 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 44

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Doc opened up a trunk and filled it with his clothes, knick knacks, and of course, a hearty supply of his Miracle Cure-All. Annabelle, now in her best dress, walked into the room while fastening a ring to her ear.

“Whatcha doin’?” the ditzy prostitute asked.

“I’m afraid I’ve worn out my welcome in this town my dear,” Doc said. “I’m off to cross the Mississippi and share my Miracle Cure-All with the East.”

“No!” Annabelle said. “Why? Because of what Miss Bonnie said?”

“Indeed,” Doc replied. “I have always steadfastly maintained that a man is little more than his reputation and I will not remain in a locale where my good name is assaulted by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”

“You sold all your dope, didn’t you?” Annabelle asked.

“Yes,” Doc said. “I mean, it’s not dope, but yes.  And upon my arrival in Chicago I shall order more!”

Annabelle’s eyes bugged out. “Chicago?! Golly, I’ve always wanted to see a big city.”

Doc sat on the edge of the bed. “Yes,” he said. “ I suppose I sometimes forget that to the common folk my life is quite spectacular.”

Annabelle joined him. “It sure sounds like it.”

“My dear,” Doc said. “I do not wish to alarm you and I say this with every possible sense of humility but you are in the company of a genius.”

“Oh I know,” Annabelle said. “I knew it the second I met you.”

“Few share your remarkable foresight,” Doc said. “For all throughout history, those who dare to think differently from the commoners have always been subjected to ridicule.”

“They have?” Annabelle asked.

“Indubitably!” Doc replied as he stood up. “Why, the great Galileo was viciously persecuted for declaring that the Earth revolves around the Sun and not the other way around, as the biblical scholars believed at the time. Columbus was scoffed at when he surmised that the world was round and that he would prove it by circumnavigating the globe in order to reach India!”

“Did he ever reach India?” Annabelle asked.

“It doesn’t matter!” Doc said. “For though they were scorned in their day, history has proven that these men possessed a level of intelligence far greater than their contemporaries. We now know that the Earth does indeed revolve around the Sun, that the world most certainly is round and by God, though my fate as a genius is to be mocked by uncouth nitwits for the rest of my waking days, I cling to an unwavering belief that one day there will be a place for me in the history books in which I am praised as Doctor Elias T. Faraday by way of Boston, Massachusetts…”

Annabelle had heard Doc’s spiel before. She hopped up and proudly proclaimed, “But he’s no relation to those Chestnut Hill Faradays because they’re lousy beggars who will pick your pockets!”

“Precisely!” Doc said. “And I shall be remembered as the pioneer who revolutionized medicine by informing the world of the curative properties of cocaine and the benefits of weekly gynecological exams!”

“I still think those could just be yearly,” Annabelle said.

Doc slapped his forehead in disgust, then labored to respond. “It’s just that…”

“I’m sorry,” Annabelle said.

“…you have no idea the horrors that could transpire within your womanly chasm in the span of a single day let alone an entire year,” Doc said.

“I said I’m sorry!” Annabelle protested.

“No no,” Doc said. “Such is my lot in life. Such is the lot of all geniuses who are burdened with knowledge the world is not yet prepared to hear. Oh how I wish I could trade my brain for that of a dullard and live a blissfully unaware life but alas, I shall strive to muddle through. Good day, my dear.”

Annabelle threw herself at Doc, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “Take me with you!”

“What?” Doc asked.

“I want to see the big city and help you spread the word of the curative properties of cocaine and weekly guy-na…guy-na-col…of weekly beaver inspections!”

“No, no my dear!” Doc said. “I simply could not allow that! My work is much too tasking for a delicate flower such as yourself you know. Why, once I pass through New York City and big good morrow to my family in Boston I shall be off to England, Spain, France, even Russia on my mission to spread my Miracle Cure-All all over the world.”

Annabelle bounced up and down giddily. “I want to travel all over the world!”

“But my dear it’s not all visits with Kings and heads of states I’ll have you know,” Doc said. “I shall journey onward to the heart of Africa, for even the savage peoples of the Dark Continent deserve the medicinal effects of cocaine based drinks mixed with spider eggs for texture. This is my life now, my dear, and I will not rest until every hand in the entire world is holding a bottle of Doc Faraday’s Miracle Cure-All!”

Annabelle squeezed Doc tighter and begged. “Please, please, please, please…”

“Hmm,” Doc said as he stroked his devilish beard. “Dare I? Doctor Elias T. Faraday take a wife?”

Annabelle shoved Doc away. “Whoa! Slow down, buster! Who said anything about getting hitched?”

“I thought that was what you were implying,” Doc said.

“No,” Annabelle said. “I just want to see the world and…” She then whispered some very naughty activities into Doc’s ear that caused his right eyebrow to raise exceptionally high.

“Well in that case, come along my dear,” Doc said as he offered Annabelle his arm. He picked up his trunk with his free hand and walked downstairs with his new companion.

“Oh dear,” Doc said as he checked his pocket watch.

“What?” Annabelle asked.

“Well, the Slade-Farquhar nuptials shall be happening presently and as a man of high stature I really should attend.”

“You should?” Annabelle asked.

“I should,” Doc replied. “I saved Marshal Slade’s life in a harrowing shoot-out against a band of ruffians I’ll have you know.”

At a table with his favorite brother-cousins, Smelly Jack drank his twelfth beer of the day and eavesdropped on the conversation.

“You did?”  Annabelle asked.

“The Buchanan Boys they were called,” Doc said. “Oh it was quite gruesome. No decent man ever truly gets over taking another man’s life and yet I was forced to take so many lives that day.”

“Oh your poor thing,” Annabelle said.  She didn’t consider the fact that she was literally surrounded by many living Buchanans but then again putting two and two together wasn’t exactly Annabelle’s strong suit.

“Yes well, I shall persevere,” Doc said as he led Annabelle through the double doors. “Come my dear, let us attend Mr. Slade’s wedding and then we shall be off to travel the world!”

“Waldo!” Annabelle shouted to the barkeep.

Waldo looked bored out of his mind, listening to another bull session between Blake and Townsend.

“Tell Bonnie I quit!” Annabelle said.

“OK,” Waldo said.

“I’m going to be an assistant world traveling beaver inspecting dope salesman!” Annabelle proudly declared.

“Umm,” Waldo said. “You know I think I’ll probably just tell her you don’t want to be a whore anymore…if its just the same.”

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Feb 20 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – I Saw Gunther

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Today, whilst procuring groceries for BQB HQ, I saw an old man with gray hair, a beard, and a GLASS EYE!

I kid you not.  I really, really did.

If only I had the chutzpah to go talk to him and ask for an interview on what it is like to have a glass eye.  Maybe he’d of offered a detail or two to add to Gunther’s character.  More likely, he would have told me to go F myself.

I take this as a sign from up above that I’m supposed to finish this book.

Then again, I have seen things related to my other books in real life that seemed highly coincidental at the time, took them as signs, and then quit so…

I don’t know.  It was totally Gunther though.

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Feb 20 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 42

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Miss Bonnie rapped on Annabelle’s door. No one answered.

“Annabelle?” Miss Bonnie asked.

Muffled voices could be heard from behind the door. Annabelle giggled.

“Doctor, that’s so cold!”

“No one ever said that maintaining good health is easy, my dear,” Doc replied.

Miss Bonnie knocked on the door again. “Annabelle!”

“Doc,” Annabelle said. “Do we really have to do this every week?”

“Oh I insist my dear,” Doc said. “We must not leave your physical well-being to chance.”

“It’s just that it’s getting kinda expensive,” Annabelle said.

“An understandable concern,” Doc said. “But while you can always make more money, you can’t make yourself another life now can you?”

“I suppose not,” Annabelle said.

Miss Bonnie opened the door and barged in to find a buck naked Annabelle laid back in bed with her legs straight up in the air.

Doc popped his head up from in between them, wearing a pair of goggles that made his eyes appear a hundred times larger than they normally were. He gestured wildly with a cast iron speculum in his hand. Both hands were covered with black leather gloves.

“Miss Lassiter!” Doc said. “Can you spare me a moment? As you can see, I’m with a patient.”

Annabelle pulled the covers over herself. “Oh…hey Bonnie,” she said.

Doc stood up. He was fully clothed.

“What in the hell is this?” Miss Bonnie asked.

“A medical examination,” Doc said. “A very intense, grueling procedure if you must know.”

“Damn it, Annabelle, have you been…”

Embarrassed, Annabelle hid her face under the covers. Miss Bonnie pointed at her girl then looked at Doc.

“Pay her.”

“Pardon me?” Doc asked.

“You heard me,” Miss Bonnie said.

“But I’m rendering a professional service…”

“I don’t give a shit what nasty fetish you’ve got going on here,” Miss Bonnie said.

“Madame!” Doc said. “Dare you impugn my devotion to medical science?

“I do,” Miss Bonnie said. “Now give her back all the money she gave you AND pay her for whatever the hell you’ve been doing.”

Doc lifted the goggles and rested them on his forehead. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. He peeled off a few and set them on Annabelle’s nightstand.

“More,” Miss Bonnie said.

Doc added to the pile. “This is ludicrous,” Doc said. “You’ve wounded me deeply with these slanderous accusations!”

“You’ll get over it,” Miss Bonnie said. “Now about the dope you’ve been pushing…”

Doc’s eyes widened. “Dope?! Dope?! Madame, I’ll have you know the only so-called ‘dope’ I’m ‘pushing’ is Doc Faraday’s Miracle Cure-All, the last medicine you’ll ever need!  Good for aches, pains, bowel distress, consumption…”

“I don’t give a shit if its butterscotch pudding,” Miss Bonnie said with her hand out. “Anyone who turns a trick in my joint owes me a cut. Fork it over.”

Doc put a stack of cash in Miss Bonnie’s hand.

“Keep it coming,” the redhead said.

“Is there no appreciation for science in this Godforsaken town?” Doc asked as he slapped down some more bills.

“Apparently not,” Miss Bonnie said. She tucked the cash into her brazier. “Annabelle, is this asshole hurting you?”

“No,” came the reply from under the covers. “It’s kinda fun!”

“I guess you can finish whatever the hell you were doing now that you’ve paid,” Miss Bonnie said to Doc. “But if I ever hear about you charging one of my girls again you’ll be extracting my shoe out of your ass.”

Miss Bonnie walked away. Doc put his goggles back on. “Well, my dear, I suppose there’s no rule against me examining you pro bono.”

“You’d do that, Doc?” Annabelle asked as she popped her head out.

“Indeed, my dear,” Doc said. “Selfless, I know, but I take my Hippocratic oath quite seriously and my devotion to my patients knows no bounds.

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Feb 20 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 41

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Back at the Bonnie Lass, the Buchanan Boys carried on with their raucous party late into the afternoon. Highlights included:

  • Homer Buchanan taking shots at customers’ feet, demanding that they dance.
  • Zeke Buchanan relieving himself wherever he pleased.
  • Stephen Buchanan exhibiting a firm belief that pants were optional.
  • And last but not least, Augustus Buchanan singing “Camptown Races” over and over again.

Miss Bonnie and Waldo stood behind the bar, taking it all in.

“Do they just live here now?” Waldo asked.

“I guess,” Miss Bonnie said. “I don’t know.”

“Can’t you do something?” the barkeep inquired.

“I keep trying to talk to Mr. Blythe,” Miss Bonnie said. “But he’s so damn convincing.”

Blake pushed his way through the swinging doors and found a seat next to Townsend.

“Well, you won’t believe the horse shit I just heard,” Blake said as he plunked a few coins on the bar. Waldo poured him his usual scotch and handed it over.

“Bathing’s become socially acceptable?” Miss Bonnie asked.

Townsend saw Miss Bonnie’s dig and raised her a “You’re a bigger drunk than U.S. Grant?”

Everyone looked at Waldo. He had nothing. “Um…you’re stupid?”

“Ha, ha ha,” Blake said. He downed the shot and pounded the glass on the bar. “No, no and you’re one to talk, Waldo. Get this. I’m down at the store…”

“…buying your pecker rash cream…” Miss Bonnie interjected.

“Can I tell a story here?” Blake asked.

Waldo set the barfly up with another shot. “Thank you,” Blake said. “And I hear old Mrs. Anderson talking about fixing up a dress for the Widow Farquhar. Turns out she and that lousy excuse for a marshal are tying the knot.”

Miss Bonnie felt her sense of humor leave her in an instant.

“Slade and the Widow Farquhar?” Townsend said.  “Get out!”

“I will not, thank you very much,” Blake said.

“Eh, who cares?” Townsend asked. “Good for him.”

“‘Good for him?’” Blake repeated. “Shit, the Widow Farquhar’s got all that money and  land. Slade’s making out like a bandit.”

“She’s a real looker that Widow Farquhar,” Waldo said.

“I wouldn’t mind being in Slade’s shoes,” Townsend added.  “Waking up every morning next to the Widow Farquhar.”

“What has that son of a bitch ever done to deserve a woman like the Widow Farquhar?” Blake asked.

Miss Bonnie had heard enough. “Maybe he does more than just sit on his ass and pour booze down his gullet all day, ya’ degenerate!”

The proprietor stormed off upstairs.  When she reached the top, she turned around and yelled, “And stop calling her ‘the Widow Farquhar!'”

“What’s eating her?” Townsend asked.

Waldo shrugged his shoulders.

“Hike up your boots, boys,” Townsend said. “There’s a red flood a-comin!”

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Feb 19 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 40

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Lackies in tow, Blythe walked away from the station and headed down the main road through town.

“It’s excellent,” Blythe said. “Better than I imagined.”

“Sir,” Hewitt said. “We can’t find the boy.”

“Keep searching,” Blythe said.

“We’ve already gone as far as Iowa and Illinois,” Becker protested.

“We must satisfy the board that everything was done to locate him,” Blythe said. “If he isn’t found today, you’re free to hunt down Freeman this evening.”

“Yes sir,” Becket said.

As the trio passed by an office marked “Herbert O’Brien, Professional Photographer” their heads were turned by a very raspy, “Hold it.”

Slade was taking a smoke break while Sarah was inside, going over the details with O’Brien. The ex-marshal exhaled some cigar smoke in Blythe’s direction.

“Ah,” Blythe said. Good day Marshal…or rather, good day, Mr. Slade. I forgot how you so callously abandoned your noble position, leaving the denizens of Highwater to fend off themselves against all manner of villainy.”

“I think I’m staring at a villain right now,” Slade said.

Blythe clutched his chest as if to say, “Who, me?”

Slade nodded.

“Such hostile paranoia,” Blythe said. “It’s very unbecoming.”

“What is that monstrosity you brought to town this morning?” Slade asked.

Blythe feigned a dumbfounded expression. He looked to Hewitt, then to Becker, then back to Slade. “It’s a train, sir. You put goods you want moved onto it and then it goes ‘choo choo’ and takes them where they need to be.”

“I’ve never seen a train pack that much firepower before,” Slade said.

“It’s very simple,” Blythe said. “Our accountants took a hard look at the losses we’ve suffered over the years, shipments lost to outlaws, bandits, Indians and what have you. They did the math and determined it is cheaper to protect what is ours the first time rather than continue to paying to replace our property ad infinitum. Rest assured, Mr. Slade. If the Federal government will not part with the money necessary to tame the West, the Legion Corporation will.”

“It looks like something that should belong to the Army,” Slade said. “Not you.”

“I assure you all relevant government authorities were consulted and proper permits were obtained,” Blythe said.

“Must have cost you a pretty penny, all that bribery,” Slade said.

Blythe grinned. “Mr. Slade, I do believe we have gotten off on the wrong foot. The Legion Corporation could use a man like you. Your intellect, your talent, it’s all going to waste in your premature retirement. What say we get together and discuss the generous salary I’m prepared to offer you as a rail line security agent?”

Slade chomped on his cigar and gave his answer out of the corner of his mouth. “What say you go fuck yourself?”

Like clockwork, Hewitt and Becker took that as an invitation to move in closer. Blythe raised a hand and backed them off.

“How unfortunate,” Blythe said.

The office door opened and Sarah walked out, accompanied by Mr. O’Brien. He was a short man with a round face.

“Years from now you’ll be glad you did this, ma’am,” O’Brien said. “Memories may fade but a photograph is forever!”

“Oh Rain,” Sarah said. “You really must see some of the wonderful photographs Mr. O’Brien has taken. They’re amazing.”

Sarah noticed Blythe. “Oh. Hello.”

“Good day, ma’am,” Blythe said. “You must be the soon to be Mrs. Slade. I apologize for my boldness, but gossip does have a way of floating through the breeze in this town.”

“Yes,” Sarah said, extending her hand. “Sarah Farquhar.”

The counselor took Sarah’s hand and kissed it, much to Slade’s very visible dismay. “Au chante, mademoiselle,” Blythe said.

O’Brien chimed in. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Blythe. I heard there was a new gentleman in town. I hope you’ll stop by and do me the honor of taking your portrait one of these days.”

“Thank you sir, but, no,” Blythe said. “I’m afraid I do not…photograph well.”

Blythe tipped his hat to Slade. “Good day.”

The trio walked off. Slade followed them into the road. He put a hand on Blythe’s shoulder. Hewitt and Becker immediately reached for their guns, prompting Slade to reach for his. Blythe intervened before weapons were drawn.

“Gentlemen, please. We mustn’t lower ourselves to savagery.”

“We aren’t done yet,” Slade said.

“Aren’t we?” Blythe asked. “Mr. Slade, have you picked up your star since you gave it away?”

“No,” Slade replied.

“And tell me, have you acquired any new credentials to back up this unseemly bravado of yours?”

“No,” Slade repeated.

“I see,” Blythe said. “Well then, to borrow from your prior and rather unceremonious vernacular, I do suggest you go and fuck yourself, Mr. Slade. Good day.”

As the trio walked away, Sarah Joined her impending husband on the street.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Just some asshole,” Slade said.

Sarah lightly swatted Slade on the arm. “You know I don’t like that language.”

Down the road, the trio schemed.

“Should we take care of him?” Hewitt asked.

“No,” Blythe said. “Leave him to me.”

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Feb 18 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 39

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If you wanted to buy something in Highwater, whether it was an axe or a suit, Anderson’s General Store was the place to be.

Dressing like a refined gentleman was a new experience for Slade. His collar felt tight. He’d never worn a tie before and couldn’t wait to take it off. He couldn’t believe that he’d allowed himself to be talked into wearing a cummerbund. A red one to boot.

Mrs. Anderson was a boney old hag who reeked of peppermint candy, though her face was sweet enough that looked as though she’d been a head turner in her day. After all, she once turned Jim Anderson’s head, though as the bald chubby man studied his accounts ledger, he didn’t look like a particularly great catch.

“So dashing!” Sarah said. “What do you think?”

Grunt.

“Is that good?” Mrs. Anderson asked.

“I have no idea,” Sarah replied.

“Is it proper to wear a hat in church?” Mrs. Anderson asked. “And those guns…you should lose them.”

“True, it is a wedding, dear,” Sarah said.

Slade cleared his throat. “Non-negotiable…on both fronts.”

Mrs. Anderson shook her head. “Men.”

She walked behind the counter, shooed her husband away from the ledger and began jotting down figures.

Slade stared at himself in the mirror, convinced this get up was the first step toward becoming a prissy, dandified girly man. A familiar voice broke his concentration.

“Christ’s sakes, Jim, don’t give me that top shelf shit! Do I look like a Vanderbilt to you?”

Slade turned his head to see his ex-deputy at the counter, purchasing a bottle of whiskey. Gunther forked over his money, took his bottle, and was about to walk off when he spotted his ex-boss.

“WELL HOLE-E-SHIT!”

There was no making a run for it now. Slade was in for it. Gunther walked over, took off his hat and bowed.

“Excuse me, Mr. City Slicker, which way to the op-a-rah house?”

Grunt.

“Did I take a wrong turn and end up in gay Paree?”

Grunt.

“No one told me the King of England was making an appearance.”

“Shut up,” Slade said.

“What’s with the monkey suit?” Gunther asked. “Someone up and croak?”

“What?” Slade asked.

“Whose funeral?” Gunther asked.

Slade felt like it was his but realized that wasn’t what Gunther meant. “It’s for a…” Slade’s voice trailed off unintelligibly.

“A what?” Gunther asked.

Slade mumbled again. Gunther put his hand up to his ear.

“Speak up, sonny. My ears aren’t as good as they used to be.”

“A wedding!” Slade said.

Gunther smiled. “Get outta town! When?”

“Tonight,” Slade said.

“Shit, you youngsters don’t waist any time do you?” Gunther said.

“I guess not,” Slade replied. Gunther was already off to the counter, shaking Sarah’s hand up and down. “Congratulations on your impending nuptials, Widow Farquhar!”

“Why thank you,” Sarah said. “You’ll join us, won’t you?”

Gunther put his arm around Slade’s shoulder. “Why I wouldn’t miss it for the world and Rain, don’t you worry none, the answer is yes.”

“Huh?” Slade asked.

“Yes,” Gunther replied.

“What the hell’s the question?” Slade asked.

“Will I be your best man?” Gunther said. “Of course I will, ya’ jackass, you don’t even have to ask.”

The thought hadn’t crossed Slade’s mind but realizing there was no other candidate for the job, he didn’t question it. Sarah seconded it.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” she said.

“Widow Farquhar,” Gunther said. “Could I borrow the groom for a spell? Official best man business.”

“Of course,” Sarah said. She turned her attention to Mrs. Anderson. “You’ll deliver the dress tonight then?”

“Yes honey,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

Gunther led Slade outside. From the steps of the general store, they could see the newly arrived train sitting at the station. Legion employees in conductor uniforms puttered about the platform, loading equipment.

“That is some nefarious and suspicious shit right there,” Gunther said. “What do you think?”

“It’s big,” Slade said. “We rode past it on the way in. Has to be at least three miles long. One of those big guns on every fifth car.”

“Rain, I know I schooled you well in the art of saying ‘fuck it,’” Gunther said. “But now might be one of those times where your ill-advised recklessness is required.”

“What do you want me to do?” Slade asked.

“I don’t know,” Gunther said. “You’re the boss. I’m just the help.”

“Not anymore,” Slade said. “And I’m getting hitched.”

Gunther and Slade shared a moment of silence. “You sure that’s what you want?” the old man asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Slade said.

“What else is new?” Gunther asked. He pulled the cork out of his bottle, took a sip, then offered Slade some. He declined.

Sarah walked out of the store and took Slade’s arm. “Mrs. Anderson said you’re free to wear your suit out of the store but darling, please don’t get it dirty.”

“I better go pay,” Slade said.

“Oh sweetheart I took care of that,” Sarah said.

Gunther felt like a third wheel. “This sounds like one hell of a shin dig, folks. I better go and get my own fancy duds out of moth balls.”

“Six o’clock, Mr. Beauregard,” Sarah said.

“Ma’am, wild horses could not drag me away,” Gunther said. The old timer walked away.

“Sarah…”

“What is it?” Sarah asked. “You look cross. More so than usual.”

“You can’t just…pay for me.”

“Why not?” Sarah asked.

“It’s like I’m a…” Slade whispered the next part, “…a damn gigolo.”

Sarah led her man down the street. “Don’t be ridiculous! We’re to be married soon. What’s mine is yours and yours is mine. Come now, we have a long day ahead. I hope we can find a photographer.”

Slade craned his neck once more at that train. He knew Gunther was right.

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Feb 16 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 37

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Cock-a-doodle-doo!

A rooster crowed, waking Sarah and Slade up, whether they wanted to sleep in or not. Sarah was in bed, snug underneath the covers. Slade was face down on a wood floor that might as well have been a granite slab. He felt like he’d be pulling splinters out of his ass for weeks.

“Good morning, dearest,” Sarah said as she yawned. She sat up in bed, happy and refreshed.

Slade provided his usual grunt of a reply. The ex-lawman stood up and strapped on his gun belt.

“Why are you putting those dreadful things on?” Sarah asked.

It was a good question. It was the first day he could remember where he didn’t have any plans that required firearms. It felt odd. Strange. He wasn’t used to the feeling so he kept his belt and guns on anyway.

“Force of habit,” Slade said.

Sarah patted the bed. Slade looked confused. Sarah had been quite vocal the day before that Slade could only stay on the condition that there’d be “absolutely no premarital hanky panky.”

“Come, silly!”

Slade took a seat next to Sarah. She smelled of perfume and wore a wool nightgown that covered literally every part of her body except for her head, which was a change from the black dress that covered literally every part of her body except for her head that she wore during the day.

Sarah took Slade’s hand and rested her head on his shoulder. “I think that you quitting that awful job will turn out to be the best thing you’ve ever done.”

Grunt.

“And I know it may not feel like that now, but one day you’ll agree.”

Grunt.

“We can make a life on this farm, Rain,” Sarah said. “Together, you and I. We’ll wake up early every morning, work the land, live off the fruits of our labor…”

Slade gave up grunting and just listened.

“…church every Sunday. Bible studies every evening. You know, we should get a cow. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Slade felt a burning desire to pull out his Colt, stick it in his mouth and blow his brains out. He felt bad for thinking that way. Sarah was lovely and loving. Any man would have been lucky to have her.

But he couldn’t help but wish that Sarah would somehow magically turn into Miss Bonnie. And the idea of “Farmer Slade” instead of “Marshal Slade” made him physically sick. He’d been chasing down desperadoes for so long that no other work appealed to him. Where was the danger in milking a cow? Where was the adventure in plowing a field?

“We could make strawberry jam!” Sarah declared. “We’ll fill up mason jars with jam and sell it at market.”

“Strawberry jam,” Slade thought. “Shit.”

Rainier Slade. The marshal who shot notorious bank robber Quincy Reaves before he could get away with a sack full of loot…the marshal who lead the posse that brought murderous psychopath Mortimer Barnes to justice…the marshal who got shot by Fiddler Pete Fillmore and not only lived to tell the tale, but shot Pete dead along with eleven of his men without having to reload once.

The ex-marshall who now…makes strawberry jam.

Slade began to mull over his options. “Just tell her you’ve changed your mind. Tell her you love someone else and she deserves to have a man that isn’t thinking about another woman. Shit. Don’t tell her anything. Just stand up and walk out. She’ll figure it out.”

Sarah was on a roll. “And why stop at strawberry? There’s raspberry jam. Huckleberry jam. Ooo! Marmalade! Rain?”

“Huh?” Slade asked.

Without warning, Sarah attacked him…but in a good way. Kisses all up and down his face, his neck, she really worked that neck. Slade was shocked, given Sarah had been the one against intercourse all along, but he wasn’t about to complain. He kissed back. Their tongues wrestled as the swapped copious amounts of spit.

Suddenly, Slade was feeling better. Nothing cheers a man up like nookie. Sarah pushed him away.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said.

“It’s ok,” Slade said, going in for another smooch, only to be face palmed.

“Not you,” Sarah said, looking up to the ceiling and closing her eyes. “Oh Lord, how sorry I am that I failed you but my flesh is so weak.”

Slade rolled his eyes. Sarah sprang to her feet.

“I want to show you something.”

Sarah opened up her bureau drawer and produced a white sheet. Slade waited for Sarah to explain. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she unfolded it and there it was.

A single hole. And not a very big one. Slade wondered if he should feel insulted.

Sarah’s cheeks flushed and she bounced up and down like a giddy school girl. “I made it with a pair of shears! Do you like it?”

Slade’s mouth opened but his brain was elsewhere. “The marshal who stepped out of the path of Dirk Braddock’s legendary buck knife just in time for Gunner Ross to take it in the gut instead shouldn’t be relegated to sex through a bed sheet for the rest of his life” was the only response he came up with.

But he knew he needed to be more delicate than that. Sarah was all a-twitter and Slade felt bad again.

“It’s for our wedding night,” Sarah said. She folded up the sheet, put it away, then returned to snuggle up next to Slade again.

“Very nice,” Slade said.

“When do you think that will be?” Sarah asked.

“What?” Slade asked in return.

“Our wedding,” Sarah said. “We haven’t set a date yet.”

“Oh,” Slade said. He wondered if he might not be able to postpone it indefinitely.

“Rain?”

“What?”

Sarah rubbed her hand up and down Slade’s arm. “I was thinking…why not tonight?”

Now Slade really did want to blow his brains out. “What?!”

“Oh you needn’t worry,” Sarah said. “Father passed years ago so you don’t need to ask for his blessing. And mother’s mind is so far gone I doubt she’d know what was happening if she attended the ceremony anyway. I don’t have any family who’d be offended if we don’t wait for them, do you?”

“No,” Slade said.  He instantly regretted saying that.  Surely had he taken a minute he could have come up with some distant cousin’s uncle’s brother that needed an invite and time to make travel arrangements, thus buying him some time.

“Wonderful!” Sarah said. “I’m going to get dressed, cook you the best breakfast you’ve ever had, and then we can go to town straight away to make arrangements with Reverend Cavanaugh!”

“But…but…”

Rainier Slade. Thorn in the side of stone cold murderers across the West, done in by a skinny widow.

“I don’t know…” Slade said.

Sarah kissed Slade. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take care of every detail.”

“But…”

“It doesn’t need to be a grand affair, Rain,” Sarah said, oblivious to her fiance’s doubt. “I’m not one of those fancy women who needs a band and flowers and an exquisite dinner. Don’t worry about me.”

He wasn’t. He was worried about Miss Bonnie, who he feared he’d never see again unless he opened his yap.

Kiss, kiss, and another kiss. Three in a row. Sarah was really pushing her luck with the Lord. She cupped Slade’s hand in her cheek and looked her man in the eyes.

“I am going to make you so happy, Rainier Slade.”

Slade didn’t believe that for a second. But his heart swelled from the fact that she clearly wanted to. No other woman had ever expressed a desire to make him happy. Hell, no woman had ever expressed a desire to cook him breakfast. Miss Bonnie would probably tell him where to stick his breakfast if he ever asked her.  The she’d tell him to make her some.

He felt it. He was in love with two women. But what he felt for Miss Bonnie was a passionate love, where what he had with Sarah was a safe kind of love.

Sarah giggled. “‘Sarah Slade.’ So alliterative! I like it.”

Slade nodded. Another kiss and Sarah was off, puttering around the kitchen.

The ex-marshal laid down in Sarah’s soft, cozy bed. His back thanked him. He closed his eyes and pondered his dilemma.

He made a promise and he was a man of his word. But he also loved another woman and only had one life to live. It was too short not to be with the woman who drove him wild with desire…and not to mention, the only woman he felt like he could be himself around.  Sarah’s happiness would no doubt rely on him keeping up the tough guy routine forever.
Sarah cracked an egg into a bowl and hummed a happy tune. Slade watched. He knew right then that he would never, ever be able to tell her the proposal was off. Shooting criminals in the face was easy. Breaking a woman’s heart was hard. He knew he was stuck.

And at that moment he knew he could wait a day, a month, or a year and still would never be able to muster up the courage needed to come clean with Sarah, so he figured he might as well get it over with.

But at some point, he thought, he would really need to put his foot down about losing that sheet.

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Feb 15 2016
1 Comment
Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Parts 1-4

 

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Bookshelf Q. Battler, Blogger-In-Chief

Bookshelf Q. Battler has locked himself away in BQB HQ, tapping away at the keyboard to write, “How the West Was Zombed” the first in what he hopes to be a lucrative series of “Zombie Western” novels, because he lives to make his 3.5 readers happy, and also because he wants to be paid.

But mostly, he’s doing this to satisfy the Mighty Potentate, the evil alien overlord who has charged BQB with writing novels awesome enough to convince the masses to abandon reality television, which the Mighty Potentate despises greatly.

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All Hail the Mighty Potentate.

If you like it or hate it, either way, give BQB your feedback.  Your comments help BQB improve his writing and we need BQB to become a better writer so that he can write a book that will save the world from a takeover by the Mighty Potentate.

PART 1 – The Stand

Marshal Rainier Slade, a genuine stoic who’d prefer to shoot a fella as soon as look at him, is the only man in Highwater willing to face the dastardly Buchanan Boys.  Reluctantly, he’s joined by his elderly deputy Gunther and the fast talking snake oil salesman Doctor Elias T. Faraday, who thinks the move would be good publicity.

When a misunderstanding occurs between Slade and Standing Eagle, Chief of a nearby Native American tribe, the Chief translates as his shaman, Wandering Snake, delivers an ominous curse.

Part 2 – Werewolves and Women

Miss Bonnie, owner, proprietor, and prostitute-in-charge of the Bonnie Lass, is the only woman, nay, the only person alive that Slade is willing to come out of his shell for.  The rest of the time, he puts on a raspy voice, angry faced persona to the world, figuring that’s the only way for a lawman to survive.

The Marshal fumbles a proposal but still makes it clear that he’d like a relationship with Miss Bonnie.  She declines, only to rethink that decision when Slade defends her honor.

Slade finds a new love interest in Sarah Farquhar, a widow who has just moved to town after purchasing a large stretch of farmland.  The Widow Farquhar doesn’t hesitate in pursuing Slade as Miss Bonnie did, but she’s not perfect.  Slade continues to yearn for Miss Bonnie and has concerns about the Widow’s bible thumping ways, her decree that all sexual activity occur through a hole in a bed sheet in particular.

The Marshal throws caution to the wind and successfully proposes to the Widow Farquhar, only to learn Miss Bonnie has the hots for him too late.

Meanwhile, former slave turned werewolf Joseph Freeman and his teenage son, Miles, also a werewolf, arrive in town.  Joseph is looking for work and takes a job assisting Slade and Gunther watch the Buchanan Boys until Judge Sampson arrives to conduct their trial.

All the while, strange reports of monsters are afoot.

Part 3 – The Trial

Judge Sampson, a by the book jurist who’d hang his own mother for stealing a piece of candy, is about to sentence the Buchanan Boys to their doom at the end of a rope when a newcomer arrives in his courtroom.

“Simple country lawyer” Henry Alan Blythe displays a supernatural ability to get people to submit to his will.  He convinces the Judge to let the Buchanan Boys off the hook.

Enraged at the injustice, Slade turns in his star.  Gunther does so as well out of loyalty, though less forcefully as concerns about ripping his vest get in the way.

Part 4 – History Repeats Itself

Joe Freeman’s past haunts him again and again and his longstanding feud with Blythe is about to come to a head.

Blythe, a villainous vampire/counsel for the Legion Corporation’s board of vampire directors, has dreamed up a scheme to conquer the United States with a zombie army that responds to his will.

But the board’s bureaucratic maneuvering threatens to throw his plan off the rails.  His bosses want him to toy with Slade and Freeman, rather than kill them outright.

 

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Feb 15 2016
3 Comments
Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Part 4 – History Repeats Itself

Henry Alan Blythe is a bloodsucking lawyer and that’s not just redundant.  He serves an evil corporation and that’s not redundant either. As a vampire/chief advisor to the Legion Corporation’s board of vampire directors, he’s concocted a plan to overtake the United States with an army of zombies that obey his will.

But his bureaucratic bosses love to tangle everything up with blood red tape, demanding that he toy with werewolf Joe Freeman and Marshal Slade rather than kill them outright and remove the threat they pose.

Meanwhile, Lady Blackwood is open for a future “restructuring” of the board if Blythe’s zombie invasion plan pays off.

As for Freeman, a dark history has repeated itself twice and he’s not about to sit back as it unfolds for a third time.

Oh, and learn about the Hierarchy of Evil – #1 Vampire (Brains=Yes, Soul=No) #2 Werewolf (Brains = Yes, Soul=Yes) #3 Zombie (Brains=Technically but not really; Soul=no).

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Chapter 29           Chapter 30            Chapter 31

Chapter 32           Chapter 33             Chapter 34

Chapter 35           Chapter 36  

 

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Feb 15 2016
3 Comments
Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 36

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Joe had let himself into Burt Townsend’s shop.  Luckily, Highwater’s premiere blacksmith didn’t have much of a work ethic, preferring to while away his time on a bar stool at the Bonnie Lass instead of doing anything productive. 

The fire had been stoked and above it sat an iron pot, filled with a piping hot, shiny syrupy gloop.  What had once been two candlesticks was now liquified silver.  Joe felt bad about taking them from the church without asking, but he did leave his seven dollars in their place and though he was sure that didn’t cover their cost, he was figured the higher cause they were being used for would balance everything out.

He gripped a bullet with a pair of tongs and dipped it into the silver, making sure to coat it all over.  He then laid it on a cloth next to the others.  Every piece of ammunition he had was ready.  He loaded up his pistol and rifle, then slipped the remaining silver coated bullets into a bandolier.

Joe doused the fire, packed everything up and walked out of town, all the way to the countryside.  There he found a tree, disrobed, and wolfed out under the moonlight.

“You never left did you?”

A minute passed before Joe heard his son’s reply, “No.”

“You’re a man now,” Joe said.  “I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.  But if you won’t take my advice, then you’re responsible for the consequences of your choices.”

“I know,” Miles said.

“No you don’t,” Joe said.  “One way or another, this ends tomorrow night.  Preferably without you here, but even if you are.  You won’t like what happens.  You won’t like what you’ll see.  You won’t like what you’ll have to do.  I can guarantee you’ll wish you’d walked away.”

Pause.

“Are you going to talk forever?”  Miles asked.  “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Stubborn little prick,” Joe replied.

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