Showdonws and Small Towns

In the action packed opening chapater we are introduced to the mysterious ronin known only as Satori and the wild and big mouthed bounty hunter Jonas Wakefield.

       Our story begins in the sort of place that tales such as this always tend to, in an arid desert town drowning in blood.  What kind of story is this that has such a grim and violent backdrop?  Well, this is a story of revenge and redemption, of friendship and betrayal, of hope and great loss; this, dear reader, is a story of bullets and blades.

 

            The town of Dusty’s End was a speck of a miniscule nothing sitting in the vast desert of the frontier wastelands.  The earth was dry and hard, as were the people who chose to live there.  Some 20 miles from its southern end were towering mesas and deep craggy canyons which provided its residents with a unique skyline, eerily similar to that typically seen in cities on the more civilized eastern coast.  It was a small community of maybe a hundred or so permanent residents, evenly split between families and business owners and rail workers.  Since the completion of the railway, a few short weeks ago, that passed at the town’s northern end, many had the hopes of the town growing even further and becoming a bustling city, but that was a future that wouldn’t be.  The reason for the derailment of that prosperity and hope was the arrival of the Dreaded Family Morgan, a notorious gang of viscous thugs and bandits around which there are many terrible stories and rumors, and the mysterious doctor.  Ever since then reports of strange happenings and cases of people vanishing began to rise at a rather disturbing rate, and then three days ago all communications from the town ceased and no one has heard anything since.

 

            It was the town’s sudden silence which drew the attention of the two men currently walking through its empty streets.  They had entered from opposite directions, the tall, lanky gunman with long dusty blonde hair and wearing a dirty brown striped poncho and dusty black wide brimmed cowboy hat had come from the east side, while the swordsman had come from the west.  If any of the former inhabitants of Dusty’s End had been there for his arrival it would have been quite the scene, the swordsman was of average height and his features were completely hidden by his clothing which was that of a ronin with a large straw hat that covered his face.  The outfit would have drawn attention further more by the fact that it seemed to be the sort of thing best worn during the winter and seemed to be far too heavy and thick for the hot desert.  But all in all it was his weapons that were the real head turners, at each hip was a katana in a dark red and black scabbard, and on his back sheathed in a deep blue, black, and white scabbard was a katana of unusual length.  It was almost as long as the swordsman was tall and at its hilt were several talismans written in the ronin’s native language, he kept his left hand at the hilt of the katana on that side as he walked the seemingly abandoned streets.

 

            Quietly, and with great caution, the swordsman moved towards the town square, all the while seeing no signs of life.  Pausing a moment he looked into one of the house’s windows and saw something quite distressing, it was a table that had been set for a meal now long passed, but what was distressing was that it had seemed as if the persons who had lived here had been taken away in quite suddenly as there was no evidence of any struggle whatsoever; it was while he was looking at the perplexing scene in the window that he had failed to notice the gunslinger’s approach. 

           

The gunslinger had noticed many similar scenes on his way to the town square and as he turned onto the main thoroughfare he saw the swordsman looking intently into a window to one of the many unoccupied homes.  He made a beeline for the quiet and still figure and called out a greeting just as he approached.

“Hey, well it’s about time I found someone arou….”   He was interrupted by the swordsman’s blade narrowly missing his neck.  The gunslinger jumped back and steadied his self from the shock at the surprise attack.

“Whoa, what the hell was that?  You almost took my damn head off!”   He shouted but found that his attacker was already charging full speed in his direction.  Barely dodging a sword stroke that was clearly meant to vivisect him, the gunslinger cursed under his breath and drew the holstered revolver at his left hip.

 “Okay, so if that’s the way you want it, fine by me.”   He spat out and unleashed a three round burst of lead at the still charging swordsman who deftly side stepped and dodged each shot finally lunging at the gunslinger, but the blow was parried with the barrel of the gunslinger’s weapon and the two men locked eyes; neither one willing to back down.

“Damn it, what is your problem?  I just want to ask you what happened to this place.”  The gunslinger roared, to which the swordsman began to relax his stance.

“What?”  The swordsman began; his voice was smooth but had a strange coldness to it despite his apparent surprise, “You are not from here?”

 

            The two men eased their stances and studied each other, the gunslinger raised the brim of his hat with a finger and smirked, but before he had a chance to say anything he was interrupted by the sound of loud unenthusiastic clapping coming from the saloon across from them.  The noise was being emitted by a large, fat, balding Hispanic looking man who appeared to be in his mid-to-late thirties, who had begun stepping out through the wooden saloon double doors.  He grinned at them with menace in his eyes and spat out a loud angry laugh,

“Bahahahaha, that was quite the show you two put on.”  He stopped clapping and folded his arms in front of his wide gut, “To bad you didn’t finish it though, as it would have saved me the irritation of dealing with you myself.”  His grin widened, showing far too much teeth, and his eyes filled with a sick, deranged intensity. 

“Now, before I kill you, why don’t you tell me who you are?  I like to be able to match names to the faces of those whom I’ve slaughtered.”

 

            The gunslinger stared at the disgusting bandit a moment and smirked.

“Well, if you must know, the name’s Wakefield, bounty-hunter and hired gun extraordinaire.”  He said with a slight sarcastic bow as he rose up he drew a gun from his right hip, “And I’m here looking to get paid for taking your tubby a*s down.”

“Well Mr. Wakefield, I’m afraid that it will be you paying the price for sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”  He replied with a subtle growl of irritation and that disgusting smile still plastered wide across his fat hate filled face.  He turned his gaze toward the swordsman, “And you are?”

“I don’t give my name to filth.”  Was the swordsman’s answer.  The smile on the bandits face evaporated and was replaced with a toothy sneer.

“Listen here hombre; do you know just who you’re talking to?  I am Jose Morgan of the Dread Family Morgan, and you don’t talk to me with disrespect.”  He shouted, filling the air with his grating angry voice.

 

            The swordsman narrowed his eyes at the mention of the name Morgan; he returned the blade that he had been holding to its scabbard and reached for the long sealed blade on his back.  As he brought the weapon up the bandit reacted to it with an expression of shock and terror.

“Th...that...that sword, it can’t be.” His eyes looked nervous as he stammered out the words, “You’re him aren’t you? “  Wakefield stood there shooting looks between the swordsman and the bandit, confused as to what was going on and what they were talking about.  What the hell is going on? Am I missing something here? He thought to himself.

“You’re Satori aren’t you?  That crazy doctor warned us about you.”  Jose Morgan had managed to shake some of the shock off, “S**t, well it looks like I’ll have to use those things after all.” He muttered under his breath, after a moment he shouted, “Well guess it’s time to get this shindig started.”  He drew and fired off his pistols, causing the pair to dive off for some cover as the fat bandit used the distraction to run off back into the saloon.

 

            Satori jumped back on to his feet and cursed under his breath while Wakefield stood up and dusted himself off.  They were about to make for the saloon doors when a loud screeching sound erupted from nowhere, it was high pitched and made the hairs on the back of Wakefield’s neck stand up.

“What the hell is that?”  Wakefield yelled covering his ears.  The sound continued for a moment longer and then stopped.  The two men stood frozen in place with a nervous apprehension. 

 

Now there was a new sound and it seemed to come from the supposedly abandoned buildings all around them, it was an awful scuffling sound and it was accompanied by a horrid chorus of low and pained moaning.  There was a flash of movement from one of the nearby structures and out of it came the shambling form of something that had once been a living person, but it was decayed and slightly mummified, its clothes were torn and tattered.  But by far the most horrific thing about it was that parts of it were metallic and at the end of each arm were razor-sharp bladed gauntlets instead of hands.  As soon as this unfortunate creature exited it was joined by three more, and from the buildings all around them more began to pour out on to the street by the dozens.  It wasn’t long before they were completely surrounded.

 

“Holy s**t, this is bad.  This is very, very bad.  Just what the hell are these things?”  Wakefield wondered aloud as he and Satori stood back to back to each other, Satori brought up the sheathed long sword and pulled it free, tearing the paper seals on its hilt.  The air filled with a strange chill as if the temperature had dropped despite the suns rays still beating down.  Before Wakefield could even comprehend the sudden cold the voice of Jose Morgan boomed out of nowhere,

“Mister’s Wakefield and Satori allow me to introduce you to the former townspeople of Dusty’s End.”   The voice announced and laughed, “This is just a sample of the s**t-storm you’ve stepped in, but fear not for you won’t regret it much longer.”

“What do you mean by that?  What in god’s name have you done to these people?”  Wakefield hollered at the air.

“Hahaha, I assure you god had very little to do with this, but since you’re so curious.  This is but a taste of the power granted to the Morgan’s by that wonderful doctor, now DIE!! Kill THEM!!!” 

 

            The swarm of cybernetic undead moved in response to the command.