wwxchris-blog - Tumblr blog

[wwxchris-blog]

Part 1

1.

Eric was the first to wake. He never slept well on their makeshift camping beds, which circled a smouldering camp fire. A bottle of empty whisky and opened cans of beans were littered amongst the trees from the night before. He picked up his cowboy hat and placed it on his head, shielding him from the morning sun. Eric studied his posse in amazement, reliving their travels as he sat with his arms around his shins. The first posse member he stumbled upon was Chris English. Eric was unsure if English was his last name, or whether it was because he spoke with an English accent; he always had been a bit of a mystery. Friends of his would call him English, so Eric adopted this too. English was a scientist and a former apprentice of Doctor Carpathian, now considered a mad scientist constructing disfigured and grotesque machines for the art of war. English didn’t agree with his methods and couldn’t bare to watch the suffering, so he left. Eric had stumbled into a town and English caught his eye. He was there in a workshop with sparks flying and metal rattling. When Eric interrogated further, English was reconstructing a damaged robotic Attack Dog, the first Eric had ever laid eyes on.

“You’re awake,” said Sanchez, looking at Eric. “You know it’s creepy to stare.”

Eric sniggered at the Mexican. He could see half a smiling face looking back at him as the sun broke through the trees, catching the Mexicans face.

“How did you know I was staring?”

Sanchez got up and went into the trees, likely to empty last night’s liquor. That left Eric, English, Maddison and the imposing B-30 machine. The machine was in the form of a bear, it’s silver sharp claws and blood red eyes were enough to scare off any outlaw, including Jesse James. The bear had been constructed by English in an attempt to match the strength of Raging Bear, the man bear from the Warrior Nation tribe who had threatened his town. However, much to English’s frustration, the fight didn’t materialise and Raging Bear had moved onto other quests. It meant that English was left with a metallic fighting bear at his command, which suited the posse just fine.

As Eric was about to stand, two men were nearing them through the trees. B-30 rose at the sense of danger and let out a roar, waking the others.

“We mean no harm,” pleaded the traveller. “We’re here to simply warn you about the strange antics that have befallen a nearby town.”

“Y’all keep your hands where I can see them,” instructed Eric. He studied the two men. Both wore orange coloured, button up shirts. One was bald, and seemed more excitable than the other, who had slightly more hair and wore round spectacles.

“Let me introduce myself. My name is Straw and this is my buddy Parker. We’re travellers like yourself, roaming the towns playing games of cards and drinking way too much.”

Eric could hear a dog barking in the background. He looked around but couldn’t make sight of it.

“Don’t worry,” said Straw. “Damn Frankie is always going missing and more so since that last town.”

Maddison was becoming impatient. “Cut to the chase stranger, why should we concern ourselves about this nearby town?” Her brown hair flicked back as she leap from her camp bed.

“I’m getting to it lady. The town you’re nearing is Blackhoof, if you’re intending to travel that way,” Straw pointed past Parker, in the direction they had just come from. “People are acting strangely, becoming sick, losing their minds.”

She was about to make a comment, but a look from Eric forced Maddison to bite her tongue.

Parker finally spoke up. “You want to be careful,” he said. “People don’t come out of that town the same, whether you’re sick or not.” Parker glanced at Straw and they both decided to be on their way.

Eric stroked his short brown beard as he watched them leave, puzzled as to which direction his journey should now take him. Do they continue to move forward, or face the difficulties they left behind them?

Sanchez appeared from the bushes after an embarrassingly long time. “What did I miss?”

2.

English lead the way, closely followed by his robotic creation. B-30’s steps were the loudest. Eric thought that if ever they needed to surprise their enemy, B-30 would be as useful as an Iron Horse in the middle of a lake. Eric strolled behind the pair, and was followed by Maddison and Sanchez. They were arguing again over which path to take; Maddison was convinced on turning around whereas Sanchez felt the danger ahead was a safer bet than what lie behind.

English lifted his top hat slightly off his forehead, to get a better view ahead. “We’re almost there” he assured them.

Eric grew nervous. He studied the ground, which was drier than a bone. Dust was clouding behind B-30 and rising towards Eric’s face. He held back a sneeze and raised his grey neckerchief, cocooning his nose and mouth.

“You look like the outlaws that chase us,” laughed Sanchez, who then got back to his argument with Maddison.

Agreeing with Maddison was Eric. He didn’t want to venture into this town either, but he was outvoted three to two. Although B-30 couldn’t talk, English convinced him that his vote counted as two, as he constructed the metal monster.

They began to hear music, which grew louder in between B-30’s noisy steps. It was the soulful tune of a harmonica, beautifully whistling through the soft breeze. As they scaled the dirt path they discovered the source of the noise. There, sat on a picket fence, was an elderly man clutching the instrument, running it up and down his dry lips. His hair was grey and face unshaven. Parts of his skin was almost as grey as his hair. He must be sick, Eric thought, like the travellers warned them. The group caught his eye and he stopped playing abruptly. His gaze fixed on them. His eyes widened, and widened, to an abnormal size. They were nearing him, with English up ahead leading the line. Maddison put her right hand on her revolver, but then lowered after realising just how elderly the man was. He shouldn’t cause any issue, she assured herself.

The man began to chuckle. “Ha ha ha ha ha,” showing his gums. Laughing as each person, and machine, passed him. “You’ll fit in, ha ha ha, just fine.”

He was now behind them, with Sanchez the last to scurry past. His wide eyes still following them. Sanchez was so close he could smell him, the aroma of a burnt out camp fire filled Sanchez’s nostrils.

“What a warm welcome,” commented English in his foreign tone. “It ponders me what he found so amusing.”

Sanchez smiled. “I had the last laugh,” He opened up his hand and in it was the harmonica.

A frown crept over English’s face. “I thought you had vacated your criminal ways.”

“Please,” said Maddison. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

“Y’all listen up.” Interrupted Eric. “I see the town sign ahead. Now, I don’t know the Sheriff here and chances are we’ll have to turn in our weapons, including you.” He glanced at B-30. “English, please store our weapon’s in your friends compartment.”

B-30 understood and opened a small door to the side of his torso. A vertical weapons rack ejected from the compartment. English was the first to place in his weapon; a device commonly mistaken for a flamethrower however, rather than flames, it ejected streams of blue electricity. The scientist created the weapon to fuse together parts of B-30, but found it a useful weapon when his workshop was held up at gunpoint. He fastened it to the racking and turned to collect the others.

Sanchez tossed him his Cannon Gun; it’s appearance similar to a shotgun, but the barrel was much wider.

“You’ll have to hide your bag,” Maddison pointed to his satchel, which contained small cannon rounds.

“You mean, my bag of Mexican bowls.” He winked at her. She rolled her eyes.

Maddison undid her holster belt, handing over her two revolvers. Eric was the last to hand over his metal. He carried a gun used to attach rails to sleepers, quickly bolting the two together. Used by workers of the railroad, and by Eric on his battle with the outlaw Jesse James. The bolts it fired were deadly when aimed away from the tracks.

He kept his revolver by his side. “Someone better carry a gun, otherwise we’d look too suspicious.”

Their weapons were concealed within the bear. Eric would rather they had control of them than the unknown lawmen in town.

They approached the overhead wooden sign. BLACKHOOF it read. Stood underneath were three lawmen; they all wore badges on their jackets and bronze stars shone on their hats. The lawmen observed them intently. Eric noticed the vehicle behind them, Judgment, a land train that required no tracks. Used commonly by the law, it’s prison cell at the back allowed for easy transportation of the most wanted outlaws.

“Halt there strangers!” The middle lawmen bellowed. “State your business.”

“Pardon me gentlemen,” negotiated English. “We’re merely passing though and hoping to partake in some hospitality overnight.”

“With that thing?” The lawman gestured towards B-30.

“He’s housetrained” joked Sanchez.

“Y’all have to leave him outside town, and your stupid jokes.”

Always cracking jokes, thought English. “My apologies for my,” he hesitated. “Friend”.

“Wait,” a lawmen said, then whispered into another’s ear. He turned back to the posse, and to the Englishman. “You’re Chris English, the famous inventor. You created a fleet of Electric Air Balloons for the Union, when they scaled the mountains to battle Carcosa Rex. And I’m assuming you created that.” Pointing towards B-30.

“If I am who you say, will you let us rest?”

The man looked like an excitable child. He turned back to his superior, who grunted then spoke. “My name is Mack, and I’m the Sheriff in town. These are my deputies, Pond and Aaron. Let me show you around town.”

“And the bear?” English remarked.

“And the bear?” Copied Aaron, who again turned to Mack.

Mack sighed once again. “And the bear.”

3.

Leaving the towering vehicle Judgment behind them, they strolled into town. Blackhoof was livelier than Eric thought it would be. This sickness hadn’t kept people indoors, he pondered. About a dozen people moseyed the street, their chatter filling the air. The dirt road rivered between a row of buildings, some taller than the others. A man was working on his vehicle outside a pointed roofed structure, and was becoming increasingly frustrated, so was bashing the thing with a wrench. Another man was on the roof of the building fitting a sign. METAL SMITH it read. Not a very good one Eric thought.

Sheriff Mack turned to face the group. “Why don’t you all have a wander round and get yourself acquainted,” The posse obliged and went their separate ways. “You know where to find us.” Mack shouted back at them, pointing to a wooden Sheriffs Office, which needed a bit of care.

English and B-30 walked towards the Tailor. “Wait here.” He instructed, as he pushed open the tall door. A bell rang as it opened.

“B-be with you in a s-second” a hesitant voice called out.

Mannequins were in the window, displaying some extravagant and extraordinary clothing. A coat caught his eye. It was black, blue and plum in colour, with shining silver trinkets on the chest and around the waist.

“T-that one is s-sold,” said the voice, without appearing. “A m-man called G-Garrett has bought it.”

The shop keeper then came into view and made English feel a little more welcome. He greeted him with a smile between his goatee. His head was hairless, and he studied English through round glasses. His skin was slightly greying, like the elderly gentleman they passed.

“How can I help you?” The man spoke more confidently now he was face to face.

“Just browsing the establishments here. This is a fine one I must say.”

“Absolutely, nothing but the finest here.”

His stare was becoming slightly uneasy for English. Why wasn’t he blinking? His eyes were so wide, like a wolf fixed on its prey. English stepped backwards, nearing the door, slowly, remaining in eye contact.

“My name is Daz, and I’d be delighted to fix you up with something new to wear.”

English tipped his hat and, without uttering a word, left the Tailors.

“I only need a few things Mads, we won’t be long,” Sanchez continued to bicker. “Who knows when we’ll next stop, eh.”

The General Store looked similar to the Metal Smith, however the building was complete. But only recently complete; the smell of fresh paint filled the air. To the back of the store was the counter, with shelves running along both sides. Tinned cans were stacked in the centre, an accident waiting to happen thought Sanchez. The store was empty, or so they thought.

“Y-yes?”

They both turned to see a head pop up from behind the counter. A young blonde woman, with a rebellious look about her. As she stood, she revealed a short top and blue jeans. Her skin dull in colour, and eyes dark like an owl.

“What brings y’all to this here store?” She spoke with a cheerful tone.

“Do you have any Mexican beans?” He twirled his moustache as he asked.

“Sanchez, do you really think she’ll have...”

“Here ya go,” she handed him a tin from under the counter. “Maria’s Magnificent Mexican Beans.”

Sanchez studied it in his right hand. “Do you have Father Felipe’s Fabulous Beans?”

Maddison cut in. “Don’t push it San...”

“Here ya go,” Again, a tin came from under the counter. “Father Felipe’s Fabulous Beans.”

Sanchez now held a can in each hand. “How about...”

“Enough,” his friend was becoming impatient. “Let’s get a few things and head back to Eric.”

The woman just stared at them, smiling. Maddison noticed a name tag which read Laura. Her smile increased as she locked eyes with Mads.

Eric pushed open the doors to the Blackhoof Saloon, which swung behind him to a gentle close. He surveyed the room, like he always did when entering a new bar. Poker was being played at a table; a man wearing a breathing apparatus over his mouth controlled the game. Piano music was being joyfully played in the corner, by a man bouncing on his seat. Two men bumped into each other, one spilling his beer, however they laughed it off and danced to the music. A woman in red stood against the banister leading to the rooms upstairs, playing with the tips of her hair. Eric approached the bar.

“Howdy stranger, what can I get you?”

“Whiskey.”

“Coming right up. Name’s Brian. You new in town?” Said the kind faced bartender.

“Just passing through.”

“Too bad. We always welcome new folk.” Brian poured the drink and slid it towards Eric, who downed it in one.

Eric gestured for another. “Say, Brian, have there been any strange goings on in this town?”

“No stranger than any other town,” He smiled again, but the smile faded. “If I’m honest, people are acting strangely. A bad batch of something came into the General Store and, since then,” He leaned in closer. “People haven’t been themselves. They act different, sound different, even look different. Some say it’s the Hex putting a curse on people, and I tend to agree.”

They continued talking until the others greeted them, minus B-30.

“May we have a room?” Eric asked.

“Five B is free, it’s on the house.”

They were all astonished, and thanked him for his generosity. Eric must’ve made a good impression on him, it wasn’t always this easy to make friends in the West. They passed the poker game, which had now come to an end. A smartly dressed robotic man had thrown his cigar at the winner, causing a ruckus over the table. Eric approached the staircase but was startled to hear a new voice. The voice was deeper than his.

“Meet me in room Five C.”

He looked round to see the lady in red, still twirling her hair.

4.

She closed the door as the last of the gang entered the bedroom. They looked at her puzzled, what could she want with them? The room was dimly lit with flickering candlelight. A portrait of a man hung on the wall, watching them just like the townsfolk. A top hat on his head, similar to English’s, and a moustache wrapped around his face.

Carpathian, English thought. Wherever he went, he couldn’t escape his old boss.

They all waited for her to break the silence, and her low voice finally did. “Thank you for meeting me here, I have to be cautious you see.” With that, she removed her wig. “I’ve been hiding, hiding from this sickness.”

“How does a wig protect you from that, lady?” Sanchez remarked.

She started to wipe off the grey makeup from her face. “I’m not a lady, my name is Tom. It’s not just any old sickness you know. I’m not even sure it’s a curse. I’ve been watching everyone in town, under this wig and makeup. They pay me no attention.”

“Who’s they?” Eric cut in.

“The wide eyes, so I call them. They focus on all newcomers way too much. Like they want to feed off them, off you,” There was a silent pause. “I need your help.”

Maddison couldn’t help but speak out. “You want our help, the man in a dress wants our help?”

“He looks better in it than you would.” laughed Sanchez. He knew it wasn’t true.

“Strangely, it’s the only way I could get them to stop staring at me. I need you to find out what’s happening to people, and what happened to my friends. Brian was my closest buddy, and now I feel he’s lost.”

Eric pondered, then said “But Brian didn’t look like those wide eyes, so you say.”

Tom lowered his head, like he was mourning. “He’s changed, I know he has.”

“And Brian said it was something to do with the General Store, a bad batch of something or other. ” Argued Eric.

“When people started falling ill, there was no General Store.”

5.

Sanchez couldn’t sleep. He was tossing and turning in his single bed, thinking, studying what Tom had said. The General Store did feel like it was new, he couldn’t mistake the smell. Could the cross dresser be telling the truth? He grabbed a bar of tobacco he stole from the store, which was placed on his nightstand, got out of bed and strolled out of the room. The floor creaked as he strode, but not enough to wake everyone. As he entered the corridor, he took out his lighter. It faintly lit the hallway. He ventured towards the balcony door and was hit by the soft air as it opened.

He looked out across the town. It was silent, except for crickets. Lights flickered in the Sheriffs Office, but he couldn’t sense any movement.

“The perfect night for a leak.” He whispered, and lowered his pants.

He aimed the stream towards the bushes below. A rabbit darted out from the shrub, rather annoyed. He didn’t care, he’d been holding it in for far too long.

Just then, he felt a sharp burning to his lower back. The heat spreading. He looked down and droplets of blood began falling to the wooden floor. Faster, faster. The burning became agonising pain. He dropped to the floor and saw a silhouette standing above him. It wasn’t a man. It was a creature. It placed two cold hands around his ankles and pulled him towards the outer staircase. Sanchez’s eyelids became heavy, then all went dark.

6.

4 months ago.

Sweat ran down Eric’s forehead, the blistering heat too much for his body to handle. The air was dry, and his flask was almost empty. He rattled the bottle to gauge how much liquid remained. Not enough. Two butch men with arms as big as his thighs carried over railway sleepers, and threw them down at Eric’s feet.

“I’ve had enough of this.” The black man said, working hard alongside Eric.

“Agreed. The final pay check better be worth it. What are you gonna do with the cash Jack?”

Jack spoke as he handed Eric the rail gun, continuing the hard labour. “Buy a plot of land, build a nice little home, gamble the rest.”

“Sounds good.”

The rail gun let out a loud whooshing noise as it injected a heavy bolt into the track. It was good to have Jack working by his side. He was tall and muscular. He didn’t wear a shirt, which not only showed off his muscles, but the scars on his back. The distribution of scars formed the pattern of an arrow, and thus people named him Broad Arrow Jack.

The men took up this work on behalf of the Union. A military organisation who vow to protect the West, although they didn’t always adhere to that promise. With the advanced technology they were given, some chose to become power hungry. The Union were building a railroad across the desert, designed to transport their war machines. Eric had caught sight of a mighty war train about a mile away. It looked more expensive than anything he’d seen.

A captain greeted them both. He wore a blue uniform and was neatly groomed. His perfect moustache didn’t have a hair out of place.

“Break time boys. The General has arranged a show for you all.”

The men got to their feet and made their way over to the refreshment tent. Inside were tables with bowls of pretty rotten soup, and barrels of fresh water delivered that morning. Opposite the tent, a short distance away, was an entertainment stage. Eric thought it had been modified from an old gallows, the structure gave him the creeps. He was soon distracted from that feeling when he saw a lady take stage. She was accompanied by a violinist, the man hunched over as he prepared his instrument. She was beautiful. She wore a long blue dress, matching the colours of the uniforms on parade, and her long brown hair flowed down her back.

Eric and Jack stood with the crowd of spectators. They were all sweaty from the morning’s labour. Not Jack though, he didn’t break a sweat.

The lady took her position and the music began. She glided effortlessly across the stage, twirling her hands and snaking her body. She pointed her toes towards the crowd, then spun her leg around. Eric studied her face; her dark brown eyes made her pupils hypnotic. Her blue dress flowed like the ocean, like waves crashing each time she kicked out a leg.

The music came to a halt and the dance ended. The rowdy crowd cheered and on came the next act. A comedian. He started with a joke.

“What does Jesse James have in common with a snake?”

Eric didn’t listen to the punchline. He was fixed on the dancer as she made her way towards the tent. Eric noticed she was being followed by two of the spectators. He kept his distance, but continued to observe. She entered the structure, they continued to follow. As they approached the tent door, one unhooked the fabric door and pulled it down.

Without thinking, Eric pursued the situation. Hands shaking. He took a deep breath to calm himself and flexed his fingers. He peered through the door. An eruption of laughter sounded from around the stage, the comedian must have hit his stride. He watched the two men approach the dancer, one grabbed her arm.

“Come here darling, we won’t hurt you, much.” He grinned a toothless grin.

The girl tensed, but spoke with venom. “This won’t end well for you.”

The other man interjected. “Ha ha ha, I think you’re mistaken.” He pulled out a long glistening knife from his belt holster.

To their surprise, and Eric’s, the girl smiled. With one foot planted on the floor, she raised her other leg and struck the knife wielder under the chin. This projected him upwards, through the air. The toothless man was stunned, he still had hold of her arm without a clue what to do next. She leapt from one side to the other, spinning her body around, twisting his arm. He winced in pain. She swept his feet away with a trailing leg and climbed on top of him, striking him in the face. As her back was turned, the previously stunned male got to his feet, collecting the knife from the ground. Her back was turned, oblivious.

Called into action, Eric burst into the tent. He grabbed the serving pot of rancid soup and cast it towards him. This was enough of a distraction for Eric to strike the male with a single punch, putting him through a table.

She turned, ready to defend herself against Eric, fists at the ready and leaning back ready to kick.

“Woh woh, I mean no harm lady.” Eric pleaded.

“I had it covered.”

“I’ve no doubt you do against a real man, but this crook was coming at you from behind.”

“And are you a real man, partner?” She was testing him now.

“More so than these guys,” He acknowledged the unconscious men. “Where did you learn those skills anyway?”

She smiled from the corner of her mouth. “Training to be a dancer was a little boring. I ventured elsewhere.”

He laughed. “I’m Eric, May I ask your name?”

“Maddison.”

7.

The two of them exchanged handshakes. Eric went in for a softer handshake than usual, however Maddison gripped his hand with strength to match any man. They left the tent and walked along the tracks, away from the ruckus crowd that was now booing the comedian. They passed crates containing large canisters of some form of energy. The fuel was a mystery to them both. Perched further down in the distance was the Union’s war train. It was usually guarded by a dozen men, which they could just make out.

The ground was rough and dry. The constant pounding of the railroad construction did not benefit the earth. Walking across the ground sent a sharp feeling up Eric’s shins.

The war train was getting nearer.

“We better stop before we’re told to stop.” Eric instructed.

“Yeah, not a bad...” Maddison paused. “Did you see that?” She pointed towards the train, more specifically the guards.

As Eric looked, he saw a guard drop to the floor, and then another, and another.

“Hurry!” Maddison said, and she made towards the front of the train.

Eric followed, crouching to avoid any sudden fire. He noticed men boarding the train; one jumped into the drivers cabin, and set the train into motion. There was only one way to go, backwards, as the track ahead was incomplete. With a sudden jolt it sprung to life and begun to reverse. Maddison leapt onto the front of the train. Eric noticed a rail gun conveniently left by the track. He grabbed it with one hand, then took hold of the train with the other. The metal front of the train sloped outwards, allowing the pair to stand and manoeuvre towards the driver.

In the drivers cabin was a man, masked with a bright red neckerchief. His black hat was planted above a pair of menacing eyes. He was looking backwards, assessing the rest of his posse. They had taken up different carriages of the train, carriages of which were heavily armoured.

They both neared the cabin and could hear the driver boasting.

“We did it, boss. We did it.”

“Not quite.” Eric remarked.

The man faced Eric in surprise. Eric pointed the rail gun and gave him a face to match his red mask. The bolt caught him between the eyes, sending him backwards. Instinctively, Maddison grabbed his revolver and pulled the lever, stopping the train. She tore off the lower part of her dress and threw it out the carriage, revealing a pair of modest shorts underneath.

“I’m expecting a fight,” She warned. “You take the right.” And she took up her position on the opposite side.

As expected, they were shortly met by bandits in similar colours to the man who lay motionless, the blood pooling on the floor around them. Shots started ringing, hitting the metal cabin. A stray bullet hit a pipe behind them, causing steam to eject and whistle into the air. They were edging closer, the men were coming at them from the roof of the carriage and the ground below. Maddison returned fire and caught an outlaw in the shoulder. Eric had to wait for the right time to use his weapon, as its distance was limited. The men on the ground were now in range. He bombarded them with a series of shots, taking some of them out.

There were too many.

Eric had an idea. “Hold on.” He shouted. He grabbed the lever and pushed it forward. The train started to move forwards, increasing in speed, and moving back towards camp.

A chilling voice sounded. “Stop this train, or die!”

There, stood on the nearest carriage, was a menacing presence. His black jacket flowing in the wind, standing tall, standing proud. His bionic arms outstretched with guns in either hand. Red robotic eyes were glistening in the sunlight. He was half man, half machine.

He was Jesse James.

His guns rained bullets towards them. Neither could move from cover. They were pinned down. James walked closer, still on the roof of the carriage. He would have to reload soon, Eric thought, but when? The bionic man hopped down from the carriage and was now close to them both. The metal cabin wouldn’t take much more punishment.

An outlaw then warned James. “Boss, the track! We’re running out of track.”

The train was nearing the incomplete end of the line, and waiting there were a sea of blue uniforms. Members of the Union waiting for the commotion to reach them, guns at the ready and crouched behind their Iron Horses; vehicle like snow ploughs, only designed for the desert.

James was distracted. Now was Eric’s chance. He sprung out from his hunkered position and fired a single round at James. It hit his eye. Red glass shattered like a sharp cloud, but James kept his feet. He pointed a gun towards an exposed Eric, his finger braced on the trigger. As Eric closed his eyes he felt the floor quake beneath him; the train had derailed. Everyone lost their feet.

The General in wait raised his voice. “Surrender James. Lay down your weapons and you will be unharmed.”

James responded with a proposition of his own. He noticed, through his good eye, that the rail workers were watching on. He invited them to join in. “People, do not slave for these men in blue. With me, I’ll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. For every man who kills a blue coat, I’ll reward one thousand dollars.”

There was now a commotion, both parties were getting restless. A stand off, between the Union and the workers.

James faced Eric and Maddison, pulled at both triggers, but the guns were empty.

“I’ll find you both.” He uttered, and leapt off the train.

The blue coats were becoming agitated, not knowing if the workers would take up James offer. A nervous Union member fired first and a worker fell to the floor. That incensed the crowd. Eric and Maddison left the train, but now shots from the remaining outlaws were aimed at the military men. They scurried to find cover.

Running the other way, towards the outlaws, was Jack. He was just about to pass Eric, but Eric raised his gun and fired. Jack stopped, motionless, eyes closed. When he opened them, he looked around to see that Eric had fired a shot into a pursuing blue coat. Jack knew that Eric had saved his life, but he had no time to thank him. He darted towards James, his new family.

Admitting defeat, Eric and Maddison climbed onto an Iron Horse and sped off in the other direction, bullets screaming past them. Neither looked back to see what devastation had unfolded.

[wwxchris-blog]

Part 1 - Continued

8.

Present day.

Eric was the first to wake, or so he thought. His eyes surveyed the room and he came across a terrified looking Sanchez. Both of his hands were clutching the blanket; his eyes staring at the ceiling.

“You alright?” Eric murmured.

“Bad dream.”

Eric peered out the window and saw the sunrise. The light projected across the tops of the buildings, making them look taller than Eric remembered. Harsh shadows were cast across the meandering central path. He could see the light bouncing off B-30. The shiny machine stood to the edge of town, under a tree that was just taller than him. The bear’s head lowered, which was always the case when he was powered down.

“I’m going for a walk.” Said Sanchez, as he gingerly rose from the bed and got dressed. He buttoned up his red and black shirt and vacated the room.

It was early in the morning and there was little activity about town. It was the perfect setting for Sanchez to gather his thoughts. He strolled the alleyways between the buildings, shadowed from the rising sun. His brain was racing, he couldn’t organise his thoughts. What were these thoughts? Were they dreams he dreamt? Were they even his thoughts?

He remembered being blind. But how could he be? He could remember the feeling of two daggers in his hands, with enemies all around him, not being able to see but knowing where they were. He was a woman.

This was impossible, whose memories were these?

As Sanchez turned the corner he came crashing into someone. They grabbed at his biceps to stop him falling.

“Sanchez, it’s me, Mads, you alright?”

He gripped at his forehead and explained everything to her. The weird dream, the memories.

The dream.

It felt so real. Sanchez grabbed Maddison’s hand and lead her in the direction of the Blackhoof Saloon. How could the dream be true? His back was fine. The doors swung open and they scaled the stairs towards the balcony. If it were true, surely there’d be blood over his bedsheets, but when he woke they were clean. He neared the balcony door. It was only a dream, he told himself.

The door opened. Sanchez looked down and froze.

Blood. Just like he dreamt. Droplets where he was stabbed, smears where he was dragged. The blood was bright red and fresh. Maddison looked at the scarlet staining, then glanced at a bewildered Sanchez.

“What does this mean Sanchez?”

“I don’t know.”

9.

Dressed in a brown coat and matching hat, Eric was now ready to venture out the bedroom. He peered out the window, hoping to sight Sanchez. Maddison had already left, leaving just him and English.

“I wonder what’s troubling that man,” English observed. “I will go tend to B-30, then continue my project.”

“Project?” Eric replied.

“A prototype I’m working on at the Metal Smith.”

Eric didn’t realise the Metal Smith was capable of creating anything to English’s standards, but he didn’t argue. They both went downstairs and Eric went to the bar. He greeted Brian and ordered some food. Brian tended to the meal, keeping eye contact with Eric. Trying to avoid this, Eric distracted himself by thinking of where to move onto next. He had stayed in one place long enough and needed to carry on moving.

“Eric.” Said a familiar, deep sounding voice.

“Hey.” Eric didn’t mention Tom’s name; he didn’t want to blow his cover. Tom wore the same wig and grey shade of makeup, but he was in a rather fetching yellow dress today.

As Brian brought Eric’s meal, Tom ordered in a high pitch voice.

The two sat and ate at a table, noticing Brian standing over them like a watchtower. Thankfully, more guests arrived, and this captured Brian’s attention. It was the folk from town. The lawmen; Mack, Pond and Aaron. They were followed by Daz the Tailor. The group approached the bar and conversed with Brian.

Eric didn’t notice the pianist enter the room, but heard the music commence. The Saloon didn’t take long to become lively. The new customers grabbed their drinks and sat around the poker table. Eric heard Pond talking about probabilities, whilst Daz was trying to encourage him not to think too much about mathematics.

As the cards were being dealt, one of the saloon doors burst inwards, crashing to the floor. The man burst into the bar, gritting his teeth.

“Where is he?”

“M-Mr James, where’s who?” A frightened Brian behind the counter replied. He recognised him from the wanted posters, the red eyes were hard to mistake.

Jesse James placed down a poster of his own. It was Eric.

“H-Haven’t seen him.”

Brian tested his patience. James raised a single pistol and fired at Brian, killing him instantly.

Eric was outgunned. All the weapons were with B-30. He faced away from James, hoping he wouldn’t see him.

The outlaw approached the poker table and again said. “Where is he?”

The mood was tense around the table. He had just murdered their friend.

Mack spoke up. “We’ll surrender him to you.”

James couldn’t see Mack’s face. His back was to him and hat tiled forward. Mack rose from the table and turned to face James. Eric watched on, but then was shocked to his very core. Mack had his face, Eric’s face. How was this possible?

James laughed. “Ha ha, got you now you little...”

Another Eric rose from the table, and another. They had all transformed. Their skin slightly grey and eyes wider than his. James was astonished, he hadn’t planned for this. He fired at an Eric, catching one on the arm. His accuracy impaired from the shock. A green coloured blood ejected from the wound. The Eric’s returned fire as James darted out the Saloon, his posse waiting for him outside.

As James got behind the firing line he ordered them to shoot.

Inside, the real Eric and Tom ran for cover and darted behind the bar, forgetting the barkeeper lay dead. Brian, however, wasn’t the corpse they saw. The body was entirely grey, with a long face and sharp protruding teeth. It had a nose like a snake and large, black eyes. It lay in a pool of thick, sticky green blood.

They peered over the bar and saw the Eric’s fall one by one as a result of the gunfire. Their bodies transformed into the grey creatures and the bled out, dying.

More appeared. They burst out of buildings, surrounding the outlaws. One jumped down from the balcony inside the Saloon, and raced out to join the gunfight like an animal.

Eric heard a creature shout. “W-We’ve been c-compromised. Cerulean’s, t-take your true f-form.”

With that command, even more engaged in the combat. As Eric and Tom were about to crawl to the back of the Saloon, a creature leapt onto the bar, looking down at them, ready to strike.

“S-Say g-goodbye.” It hissed.

A bullet passed through its head, green blood spraying over their faces. As it dropped, Broad Arrow Jack stood behind it. He lowered his gun.

“I owed you one.”

He smiled, and then left to fight the Cerulean’s, charging out the one remaining Saloon door.

Tom and Eric climbed to their feet, wiping the sticky substance from their eyes.

“This way, I’ve got a feeling weapon’s are stashed in the basement.” Tom commanded, and Eric followed.

They approached a thick metal door which was slightly ajar. Perhaps one of the creatures left it open. The door was rusted and heavy. It creaked as Tom pushed it open, revealing a dark staircase leading to flickering light. Without hesitation, they descended. Large stone walls surrounded the staircase, and then the room they entered. As they entered the room, they were hit with a strong smell. Decay. Death. Littered around the room were corpses, human corpses. Laura, from the General Store. The men from the Metal Smith. The bouncy pianist. The poker player with the respirator.

“Help!” Cried a voice.

It was Brian.

Tom rushed over to the cage that contained his friend. “Brian, is that you?”

“It’s me, or what’s left of me.”

He had been strung up, upside down, the blood not being able to reach his legs. They were going to have to carry him out.

Brian continued. “The keys are under that corpse in the corner. One of those alien creatures hid it there, I’m sure of it. Let the others out too”

As their eyes surveyed the dark and gloomy room, more cages were noticed. Mack, Pond, Aaron, Daz. They were alive, just.

“I’ll grab the key.” Eric said, and neared the dead man.

The dead Mexican man.

“Sanchez?” He gasped.

He couldn’t believe it, he had seen him that morning. That must mean the Sanchez he saw, was one of them.

10.

The gun fighting continued. Outlaws and aliens dropped to the floor and the streets were littered with bodies. There were still a considerable amount of fighters on both sides however, and the shooting didn’t stop.

Eric and Tom carried Brian up the stairs to the bar of the Saloon. They carefully placed him down where he sat with his back to the wall. His jeans torn, and legs pale. Tom looked at Eric for answers, and Eric could read his mind.

“This is fixable, Brian. You ain’t out of action just yet. I know a scientist who can help,” Eric got to his feet and said. “Tom, look after Brian. My friends are out there and I’ve got to end this. No more running.”

He took hold of his revolver. For more firepower, he needed to get to B-30. The window had been shattered by gunfire, but Eric peered through it, hoping to see where his posse were. He saw English, not on the ground, but in the air. He donned a metal backpack. Above the backpack was a balloon as large as a human, inflated with bursts of blue electricity. English was souring through the sky, vanquishing both bandits and Cerulean’s with his electricity gun. Below him was B-30, clawing at the aliens. He swiped at one, sending it through the air and crashing through a building. A bullet struck the bear, but it merely enraged him. An outlaw climbed onto the robot, but a large paw pulled him off by the head and shook him from side to side, breaking his neck.

“Thirty, over here!” Captained Eric, and the bear raced to him. The side compartment of the robot opened, revealing Eric’s rail gun. Eric grasped the gun and in one fluid motion, shot an alien about to pounce on them. B-30 and Eric faced the threats on the ground as English took to the skies. Eric shot another, and another, as the aliens continued their assault. An alien swiped at B-30, catching the wires to his arm. The strong machine was now reduced to one arm, but the aliens kept coming. A creature picked up a discarded rifle, took aim at a swirling English, and fired at him. With a loud bang, his balloon burst and he spiralled onto the roof of the Sheriffs Office.

Eric fired his rail gun, but now it was for the last time. It clicked, and he was out of ammunition.

He touched backs with B-30. They prepared themselves and the grey creatures surrounded them. Saliva dripped from between their sharp teeth. Hissing noises filled the streets.

The outlaws decided to make their retreat. They were outmatched and underprepared, and now was a good time to leave.

Jesse James sniggered at Eric. “So long old foe.” And he darted away with the remainder of his gang, reluctantly joined by Jack.

The aliens closed in on the cowboy and the bear, nearing them slowly. They had nowhere to go, and B-30 was severely wounded. Then, an alien’s head popped, and an explosion caught another. Snipers, two of them, on the roof of the Sheriff’s building. But it wasn’t English firing. It was Maddison and Sanchez. The Mexican was gritting his teeth, fighting the foreign thoughts in his mind whilst firing cannon rounds. He was hanging onto the memories that were his; the trouble he caused as a kid, the feeling of excitement when he stole his first pouch of tobacco, the feeling of love he had for Maddison. No one could take these thoughts away from him. He must resist his new host.

English darted behind the same cover as the snipers, dragging the damaged balloon. Several aliens were still firing.

Sanchez turned to English. “Hand me another round.” But as he moved, Sanchez was struck in the chest by a well aimed bullet. His shirt became saturated with green blood. Maddison became furious, she threw down her rifle and unholstered two revolvers. She fanned bullets across the street and took out the last of the creatures. English cradled Sanchez, but then realised what he was. He lifted his gun and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

“No!” Screamed Maddison.

But it was too late, he had already pulled the trigger. But his weapon became jammed. He shook it vigorously, but still nothing.

“You have to kill him Maddison.” Commanded English.

She looked at Sanchez, then at her guns. He wasn’t Sanchez, it wasn’t him, but it was the closest thing to him.

“Kill him!”

Her heart pounded. She could feel the blood pumping around her body. Tears began to drown her eyes.

“KILL HIM!”

She let out a cry, raised her gun, and fired.

Fired into the chest of English.

The Englishman, stunned, dropped to his knees. His head lowered, and finally his body. His top hat rolled away from his head and blood trickled between the cracks in the roof.

A shiny metal object lay next to Sanchez. It sparkled. Maddison grasped the object and moved it closer to her. It was his harmonica. She helped up Sanchez, handed him the instrument, and without looking back said. “Come with me.”

The Mexican didn’t say anything, he hadn’t prepared for this at all. He put his arm around her and she braced him as he tried to walk. They limped away leaving English, lifeless on the roof.

11.

He pounded the ground as he sprinted towards the Sheriff’s Office. Eric knew something had just happened, but what? He darted into an alleyway and rounded towards the back. He was then met with Maddison and Sanchez, the latter writhing in pain. She helped the Mexican down from the roof, onto a crate, and then the dusty ground. Droplets of green blood were trailing behind them.

“I’m sorry.” Said Maddison, looking Eric deep in the eyes.

He knew English was up there, but in what state.

“Go.” Replied Eric, who began scaling the crate, desperate to discover the fate of his friend.

Maddison and the creature slowly moved towards the centre of town, climbing over the bodies of outlaws and aliens. An Iron Horse had partly crashed through the wooden structure of a building, the wood splintering around the front end. She gripped the back of the sand plough and pulled it backwards. This was their getaway. She assessed the vehicle; limited fuel but keys in the ignition, it would have to do.

“Hop on.” She instructed.

Together, they passed the remaining townsfolk, who had gathered outside the Blackhoof Saloon. Mack, Pond, Aaron and Daz locked eyes with the fugitives as they roared passed them, but Tom was oblivious, he was tending to Brian.

Leaving a cloud behind them, Maddison and Sanchez faded from view. The sun at their back. They were gone.

“English, English, I’m here.” Eric assessed the scientist. He wasn’t moving. His shirt heavily saturated with ruby red blood. The metal straps from his backpack made the blood seem metallic. Eric looked closely, and the wounded man’s chest slowly rose.

He was alive.

Barely.

Eric knew there was only one person who could save him.

He knelt down and placed his arms under English. He stood with great strength, now becoming covered in blood himself. He shouted for the help of the lawmen, who quickly scurried to his aid. Together, they lowered English down and lay him on the ground.

He didn’t have much time. Eric knew his journey had to be quick, it had to be now.

“I’m going to see Doctor Carpathian.”

The men were stunned. They all looked at Eric in silence.

Pond was the first to speak. “But he’s a mad man.”

“Maybe so,” Replied Eric. “But he’s our only hope. Brian, B-30, you’re coming with me, you need tending to also.”

“I’m coming too,” They all turned to face Tom. “I’m not leaving Brian. Plus, you could use a helping hand.”

Eric nodded in approval. The new gang was formed.

“I’m taking Judgment.” There was no question from Eric. He was riding the iron train whether Mack agreed or not.

With no time for argument, Eric approached the vehicle holding English in his arms, with Tom assisting Brian close behind them. B-30 opened the door with his good arm and they all entered. The road was going to be a troublesome one, Eric thought, but the vehicle offered some protection from bandits and wild animals. The train hissed as Tom started the engines. The wheels creaked as they turned. The train then moved towards the sun, leaving Blackhoof for good, Eric hoped.

Mack, Pond, Aaron and Daz watched the silhouette of the iron train leave their view. What would befall the lawmen now? They had nothing left for them here. They sought answers from Mack, he was the Sheriff after all. Mack studied the tracks left behind by Maddison’s Iron Horse, and the green blood droplets left on the ground.

“Well, I guess you know our next bounty.” Commented Mack.

The lawmen and Daz faced each other, Aaron let out a nervous laugh. Daz turned to view the streets littered with aliens, and the rest followed suit. They all understood their next task.

The Cerulean’s were dead.

All, but one.