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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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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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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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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 34

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Inside his mind, Blythe was in Hell, the realm of the damned.

He stood in a field of blank, black space that went on forever in every direction. Abruptly, a ringed wall of fire shot up into the air. It too went on to infinity.

In the center, an alluring blonde woman, all in white appeared. Her hair was up. Her right cheek had a subtle beauty mark. She held out her hand. Blythe kissed it.

“Lady Blackwood,” Blythe said.

“Counselor.”

As vice-chairwoman of the Legion Corporation’s board of directors, Lady Blackwood was an exceptionally powerful vampire. She spoke with a Scottish brogue, reminiscent of her highland ancestors long past.

Blythe looked around. “Perhaps a change of scenery? Something more fitting for your beauty.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Lady Blackwood said. In the blink of an eye, the pair found themselves strolling across the beach of a tropical island. The water was a clean, sparkling blue. Palm trees could be seen further inland, along with the occasional parrot fluttering about.

Gentleman that he was, Blythe offer the Lady his arm. She took it.

“To what do I owe this honor?” Blythe asked.

“The Chairman is pleased with the invasion thus far,” Lady Blackwood said. “The remaining board members, however, demand assurances that the next phase will proceed as planned.”

“My lady,” Blythe said, “The New World burns from Colorado to the edge of Missouri. Our lycan friends have proved to be remarkable herdsmen, pushing the undead horde across country in a wide swath of destruction.”

“Their attacks are disorganized,” the Lady noted.

“Yet effective,” Blythe said. “When I am within range of them, our army will be unmatched.”

“And are they OUR army?” Lady Blackwood inquired.

“An offensive insinuation,” Blythe said.
“But one that has been made,” Lady Blackwood said. “Zebulon has been on a tear about how convenient it was that only your blood was disseminated en masse and therefore the only one who can control this army is you.”

“Control of the army requires one to be on the front lines of battle, my lady” Blythe said. “That was a task I don’t recall Zebulon raising his hand for.”

“Of that I am aware,” Lady Blackwood said. “And I am also aware of complications.”

“Complications?” Blythe asked.

“Joseph Freeman,” the Lady said. “And Rainier Slade. What is your counsel?”

“That each should be dispatched immediately without hesitation. What is the board’s will?”

“You won’t like it,” the Lady said.

“And yet as I’ve been so often told, that does not matter,” Blythe said.

“They wish to see Freeman suffer still,” the Lady advised. “Find his son and make it so.”

“I must protest,” Blythe said. “Had Freeman been killed outright a decade ago, he’d be of no concern now.  The board is making the same mistake twice.”

“I agree,” Lady Blackwood said. “But my vote is but one and the board is not without reason. Our alliance with the lycans has always been tenuous. They do not fear death but their weakness has always been that they wish to live amongst men, to have families of their own and to make it known we can reach them there is to ensure their continued submission.”

“And Slade?” Blythe asked.

“He is resistant to glamour,” Lady Blackwood said. “You know how rare that is.”

“Only a handful have ever been discovered,” Blythe said. “He is the first that has ever resisted me to be sure.”

“The board wishes you to rally him to our cause,” the Lady said. “If you can, he would be a tremendous asset.”

“Genghis Khan was resistant to glamour,” Blythe said. “As was Napoleon. Slade is nothing like those men.”

“But he was so cold that you found no hope within him to exploit,” the Lady said.

“There’s a lack of exploitability and then there’s sheer incorruptibility, my lady,” Blythe said. “The difference is subtle but it is there.”

“All we do is to bring about the end of days,” Lady Blackwood said. “To make the living conditions of the world so unbearable…”

“…that one leader emerges, convinces the humans that he is their only hope for survival and then once all power is trusted within him, he betrays humanity and becomes its undoing, making way for the Chairman to step into the world of men. Trust me, my lady, Slade is not that man.”

“How can you be so sure?” the Lady asked.

“He loves,” Blythe answered. “Two women, in fact.”

“The antichrist has lived and died many times before,” Lady Blackwood said. “Never being placed within the right set of circumstances to pursue his true calling.”

“The board proposes an Antichrist can be made?” Blythe asked.

“Perhaps you can use his loves against him,” the Lady said.

“My lady,” Blythe said. “Any other time I’d recognize that as a delightfully wicked notion but let us focus first on our conquest of America.  We’ll then spread our reign to the rest of the world and once humanity is under subjugation, we can spend all of eternity on a search for…he who the Chairman waits for.”

“A sentiment I already expressed,” Lady Blackwood said. “It was rebuffed.”

Blythe released Lady Blackwood’s arm and faced her. “We are teetering on the edge of victory and these imbeciles would have me play the role of a cat, batting Freeman and Slade about like playthings instead of crushing them immediately.”

“Bite your tongue, counselor,” Lady Blackwood said.

“I will not,” Blythe said. “I grow weary of bureaucratic machinations thrust upon me by fools who haven’t lifted a finger to help the cause in centuries!”

Lady Blackwood’s eyes turned yellow, her otherwise pleasant voice grew darker, colder. “Bite…your…tongue.”

Blythe knew she meant business. He took a seat on the sand. Lady Blackwood followed, her demeanor returning to normal. The duo sat on the beach for a moment, staring off at the ocean. Under normal circumstances, a man and a woman in their Sunday best lounging on the ground would have appeared odd, but then again, the sand wasn’t real.

“That comment wasn’t directed at you, Colleen,” Blythe said.

“I know,” the Lady replied.

“Of all the board members I’ve always felt you and I see things as they are,” Blythe said.

“Whereas the others see things as they’d like them to be, casting threats aside to the wind and letting others pick up the pieces,” the Lady said. “But you must know your place, Henry, and insulting the board is a surefire way to forfeit your existence.”

“Indeed,” Blythe said.

“You give me pause for concern when you speak so treacherously,” Lady Blackwood said. “Our last associate who did so sold us out to the greatest vampire hunter of them all.”

Blythe took the Lady’s hand and held it. “A situation you remedied with your cunning as I recall. Hickok has become quite an asset, has he not?”

“He has,” Lady Blackwood said. “But his former colleagues Ms. Canary and Mr. Utter nip at my heels at every turn. You whine about Slade and Freeman as if you’re the only one with problems, Henry.”

“My apologies,” Blythe said.

“The silver mining boom in Tombstone is troubling,” the Lady said.

“I have full confidence in associates Ringo and Brocious,” Blythe said.

“I don’t share it,” Lady Blackwood said. “Nor do I believe rumors that Wyatt Earp has retired.”

“Certainly the board doesn’t expect me to toy with him?” Blythe said.

“No,” Lady Blackwood said. “Get a bullet in his head the sooner the better.”

“Hickok’s meddlesome companions,” Blythe said. “Slade and Freeman finding their way to Highwater. The discovery of vast silver deposits…”

“I know where you’re going with this,” the Lady said. “But the board will not hear conspiracy theories. God has given up on humanity long ago as far as they’re concerned.”

“Humans have long sat around waiting for the man upstairs to send them some kind of protector,” Blythe said. “They’re mind numbingly oblivious to the fact that their Creator put them on Earth to serve that very role.”

“He manipulates situations to put the best humans where they need to be,” Lady Blackwood said. “The wise ones stand and fight. The rest wait for some miracle that’s never coming to fix the world for them.”
“But the board scoffs at that,” Blythe said.

“They do,” the Lady said.

Blythe rubbed his thumb over the back of Lady Blackwood’s hand. “I don’t believe it’s treacherous to note that a request for the Chairman to review the board’s competence is always in order.”

“And a good way to stop existing if the Chairman sides with the board,” Lady Blackwood noted.

“But one would simply…”

Lady Blackwood patted Blythe’s hand. “Enough scheming, Henry. You’ve already curried plenty of favor with the Chairman when you convinced us to incorporate our assets so many years ago.”

“Ahh, yes,” Blythe said. “Truly, the most vile of all human inventions is the corporation.”

“An entity capable of committing all manner of atrocities and when a culprit is searched for all the humans find is a tangled web of paperwork, dead ends, and a never ending blame game,” Lady Blackwood said. “Your success is the only reason why the Chairman allowed you to proceed with your current gamble.”

“Gamble?” Blythe asked.

“You’re rolling the dice,” Lady Blackwood said. “Henry, up until now, the greatest trick the Chairman ever pulled was to convince the world that he does not exist, that beings like us are boogeymen, the stuff of tall tales told to convince naughty children to behave lest monsters get them. We thrived in the shadows, closing deals to put the most despicable humans in positions of power and ruining other humans who would shine a light on corruption. The process is slow but eventually, it would have led to the end of days. If you fail now that you’ve put our cards on the table…”

“I’ll forfeit my medallion,” Blythe said.

“That will be the least of your worries,” Lady Blackwood said.

Lady Blackwood pecked Blythe on the cheek. “I must away. I have my own matters to attend to. Please the chairman and we’ll talk about a restructuring of the board.”

Poof. Lady Blackwood was gone. Blythe laid back on the sand, allowing the warm sun to tan his face. He closed his eyes and enjoyed it.

“It’s the most of my worries,” the vampire muttered to himself.
Blythe opened his eyes to find his two henchmen in werewolf form, staring at him. Startled, the vampire jolted to his feet.

“How many times have I told you two not to leer at me while I’m out like that?!”

Hewett and Becker morphed to their usual, naked human selves.

“Sorry sir,” Hewett said.

“Didn’t seem right to leave you alone,” Becker added.

“I’m fine,” Blythe said. “Find Freeman’s son and bring him to me.”

“Don’t you think it would be better to find Freeman and…” Hewett finished his thought by dragging a finger across his neck as if it were a knife.

“Don’t tell me what I think just do as I say,” Blythe said, shooing his lackeys away like bothersome pests. “Go!”

Hewett and Becker stepped out onto a veranda that overlooked the town. It was just after dusk. The moon bathed the town in pale light.

They returned to werewolf form, jumped across the street to the roof of the bank and were off.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 31

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1880

Of all the farmers in Highwater, Phil Tucker was by far the laziest. He rarely mucked out his pig pen and while a certain amount of slop is to be expected, most farmers take it upon themselves to grab a rake and tidy up before their neighbors feel like they’re ready to drop dead from the stench.

Even worse, Tucker just threw the pig’s food directly onto the pig poop so there was a fair amount of poop that had been eaten, digested, and turned into poop again.

Super poop, if you will.

Miles held his nose and stepped up backwards onto the pen’s fence. He closed his eyes, stretched out his arms, and fell backward into a pool of brown, disgusting, fly ridden, liquefied poop.

Slowly, he emerged with the mess dripping off of him. A few snorting pigs waddled over to check the intruder out but he shooed them away.

The youngster brushed himself off, removing what he could from his face and skin. His clothes, on the other hand, were beyond ruined.

“The things I do for family,” he said.

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How the West Was Zombed – A Note on Chapter 30

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Hello 3.5 Readers.

Chapter 29 had a note and Chapter 30 has a note too.

As I’ve said before, I’m not an outliner, I’m a pantser.  I have a general idea of the story in my head and I’m not sure where it will go until I set fingers to keyboard.

So if you’re offended, please know I never really intended to write a scene in which a woman is zombified and then tries to eat her young son and her husband is faced with the Sophie’s choice of having to either shoot his zombified wife in the head or allowing his son to be eaten but…hey…the story goes where the story goes.

Really, it’s the story’s fault not mine.  As the evil Blythe said before and is about to say again, “I’m just a cog in a much larger machine.”

But hey…30 chapters and roughly 25,000 words in and there’s a zombie.  So there’s that.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 28

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Inside the Marshal’s office, Slade picked up the only two possessions he had in the world that he cared about. A box of cigars and a wrinkled, grainy old photograph of his parents, who stared solemnly at the camera as was the custom at time.

Gunther reached into the desk drawer, pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured two shots.

“Might I propose a plan since yours failed so unceremoniously?”

Slade nodded. Gunther tossed his shot back and poured another one.

“F%&k it,” Gunther said, pushing Slade’s shot closer to him. “Keep up, boy.”

Slade drank his then stared at Gunther, waiting. Finally, he asked. “What’s the plan?”

“That is the plan. F&*k….it.”

Gunther tossed another back then set himself and Slade up again. “Son, in all the years I’ve been at this, one thing has never changed. All the money in the West flows East and absolutely nothing but shit flows back this way. You got your fancy pants politicians preaching about manifest destiny, how the country is going to shine from sea to shining sea but if you walk into any town all they’re willing to pay for is one or two assholes to protect it all.”

Slade and Gunther threw back another round.

“And you know what their response to everything is?” Gunther asked.

“What?” Slade asked.

“‘Figure it out, assholes!’” Gunther said. “Don’t matter what. Tornadoes. Floods. Famine. Injuns. Criminals. Don’t matter at all. ‘Just figure it out, you two assholes we pay a pittance to!’”

“Sounds about right,” Slade said.

“It’s exactly right,” Gunther said. “They aren’t willing to pay the cost of what it will take to enforce the law proper in this Godforsaken land and men like Jack Buchanan know it. And everyone who lives here is too preoccupied with their own lives to bother to stand up and ask the political types to do right by us so honestly…f%$k it. F%$k them. F$%k Highwater. F%$k everything.”
“That’s not my way,” Slade said.

“Yeah,” Gunther said. “I know that. I knew you were different the first day I met you. I said to myself, ‘Son of a bitch, they sent a man that’s going to expect me to work for a living.’ But son you know the reason why I always try to talk you out of this shit isn’t because I don’t believe in you but because I don’t believe in the powers that be. The last two people who should have to die are the two assholes paid a pittance to protect the place just because Washington won’t ante up to provide enough manpower to send the Jack Buchanans of the world to the grave.”

Slade had always looked at Gunther as lazy and cowardly but in that moment he started to make a lot of sense. Gunther poured another round. The glasses clinked.

“Here’s to f%&king it,” Gunther said.

“F$%k it,” Slade said.

“Now you’re talking,” Gunther said.

The two men drank then sat in silence for a moment.

“I don’t know what to do now,” Slade said.

“You don’t know what to do?” Gunther asked. “Jesus Christ, you got two women after you and God knows why on account of I seen rattle snakes with better personalities. Pick one of ‘em already.”

Slade locked his hands behind his head and sat back. “I did.”

“You did?” Gunther asked. “Shit. Yet another piece of vital information withheld from your Deputy. Which one?”

“Sarah.”

“Ahh,” Gunther said. “The Widow Farquhar. A lovely woman. You’ll…you’ll make a fine couple.”

Slade noticed the hesitation. The whiskey loosened up his tongue. “What?”

“Nothing,” Gunther said.

“You said she was pretty and rich and desperate and I shouldn’t f$%k it up,” Slade said.

“I did,” Gunther said. “That was before…”

Gunther didn’t want to say it.

“What?” Slade asked.

“Before I became aware that Miss Bonnie wanted to be all over you like stink on a skunk.”

“She doesn’t,” Slade said.

“Oh you didn’t see the look in her eyes that I did, boy,” Gunther said. “The only thing stopping her from scratching out the Widow Farquhar’s eyes was fear of the gallows. She wants you and she wants you bad.”

“Yeah,” Slade said. He poured out two shots this time. “She had her chance.”

Gunther cleared his throat. “Did she really though?”

The boys drank again. “Yes.”

“But you didn’t really ask her,” Gunther said.

“No,” Slade said. “No I reckon I didn’t.”

“Sooo….”

“Doesn’t matter,” Slade said as he stood up. “I made a promise.”

Gunther got out of his chair. “You actually proposed to the Widow Farquhar?”

“Yup.”

“Shit,” Gunther said. “Well, that’s not something easily wiggled out of.”

“I don’t want to wiggle out of it,” Slade said.

“Whatever you say,” Gunther said.

The men shook hands.

“Where are you off to?” Gunther asked.

“To see if Sarah will let me sleep on her floor,” Slade said.

“Gosh,” Gunther said. “Such a whirlwind romance.”

“You got somewhere to go?” Slade asked.

“Oh sure,” Gunther said. “Don’t you worry about me none.”

“See you around, Gunth.”

“See you.”

Truth be told, Gunther’s only real plan was to keep living in the Marshal’s office until some bureaucrat got around to filling the position.

Unbeknownst to him, a body had laid perfectly still underneath a blanket inside the cage throughout the entire conversation. A hand clawed its way out between the bars and grabbed the old man’s shoulder.

“What the?!”

It was Leo Fitzpatrick, local harmless drunk, sleeping another one off.

“Shit Leo,” Gunther said. “Scared me half to death.”

“Sorry,” Leo said. “I let myself in. Maureen threw me out again.”

“Well that’s a good way to get yourself shot,” Gunther replied.

“Can I get some of that?” Leo asked, pointing to the bottle.

Gunther handed it to him. “I thought you were trying to dry out.”

“A little hair of the dog never hurt anyone.”

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How the West Was ZOMBED – Chapter 21

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A full week had passed since the capture of Smelly Jack and his villainous brood.  Rifle in hand, Slade led the processional. The town’s nosey citizens poured out of their shops and homes to watch the chained up criminals march toward the courthouse.

Knox took the left flank.  Gunther and Joe took the right.  The young Knoxes brought up the rear.

Jack was performing for the crowd.  “What a crying shame that an innocent man and his kin get railroaded just for passin’ through town!”

An old lady pelt him in the head with a rotten tomato.  He laughed it off.

“You people aint much on hospitality, I’ll tell you that!”

Swears, insults, obscene gestures and all kinds of abuse were heaped on the Buchanan Boys.  Jack reveled in it.  He even broke out into song.

“Nobody knows…the trouble I seen!  Nobody knows…my sorrow!”

Jack eyeballed Joe.  “Hey boy!  BOY!  That’s that song you people would sing whenever the mass gave you a good whuppin?”

Joe was too classy to respond.

“Swing low…sweet chariot…comin’ for to carry me home!  Oh the massa whupped my balls good and now I swing low….”

“That’s enough,” Gunther said.

“HEY MARSHAL!” Jack shouted.

Slade just kept on walking.

“Marshal! Aint it enough to run a man up the river on false accusations?!  You gotta have me watched by a dirty nig…”

Gunther stuck his foot in front of Jack’s, tripping the bigmouth up and launching him into the ground face first, taking a few of his brother-cousins with him.

“Damn Jack,” Gunther said with a wink to Joe.  “Better watch your step.”

 

 

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Discussion – How Can I Get More Than 3.5 Readers?

I asked the cast of characters known to come in and out of BQB HQ and here’s what they said:

VIDEO GAME RACK FIGHTER – “Not now. I’m running over prostitutes on Car Thief Mayhem.”

THE YETI – GRRR!  YOUR WEBSITE SUCKS!

UNCLE HARDASS – Will you quit that writing nonsense and get a job at the salt mines already?

ALIEN JONES – Stop procrastinating and publish a book, dumb ass.  All hail the mighty potentate.

BQB’s THOUGHTS

Well, as usual, Alien Jones proves to be my worthy advisor.  But until I get a book published, what advice do you have, 3.5 readers?

One day I hope to have as many as 300.5 readers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Writing – Are you a pantser or an outliner?

I’m a pantser.  I fly by the seat of my pants.  I can’t outline.  I have many ideas and plots in my head, but really, the characters don’t begin to come to life until I begin writing.

I put myself into their shoes and figure out what they’d do, what they’d say, etc.  Sometimes I surprise myself when I can’t think of what to write next and then it comes to me.

But I do write myself into walls and then end up wasting a lot of time…I’ll have “Oh crap” moments where I realize that science or logic or some little tidbit just doesn’t work and it requires a major overhaul or a complete changeover to make up for one little thing.

I suppose outlining could fix all of that.  Many writers swear by it.

What do you do, 3.5 readers?

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