Cowboy Necromancer: Infinite Dusk

by Harmon Cooper

  He didn’t see any other signs of Killbillies around. No surly loiterers standing out front maddogging locals; nothing to indicate that they’d already been through, aside from the ATV that was being worked on. Before he got to the bottom of where the bandits had run off to, Sterling figured he would peruse the goods at the trading post, and maybe even enjoy a hot meal. He’d earned it.

  Sterling entered the trading post to find a Tiwa woman seated on the ground behind a wool blanket, charms laid out before her. Next to her was an adobe stove that they had installed into the former gas station, the natives smoothing over the walls with the material and making it look like the inside of a pueblo. Sterling appreciated this; there was no sense in bringing down a perfectly good structure if they could just paint over it.

  “Ma’am,” Sterling said, tipping his hat to her.

  The woman wore an olive-green dress with embroidery stitched across it, a long-sleeved shirt tucked into the dress perforated with elaborate patterns along the sleeves, a necklace with teeth hanging from it with a lump of red-veined turquoise as its centerpiece, the necklace matching her earrings, also of silver and turquoise, and a cloth draped over the crown of her head disguising the length of her hair.

  “Please sit, señor.”

  “Señor was my father,” he said, offering the woman a grin. She didn’t return it, but she gave him a pleasant enough look, and Sterling did as instructed.

  “¿Qué necesitas?”

  “Well, for one, I need a hot bath and a place to lay my head tonight. You got that here?”

  She nodded.

  “I also need a nice warm meal to match the scorcher of a day out there. You been out yet?”

  The charm seller shook her head.

  “Don’t blame you one bit, ma’am. Much nicer in here, and I’m guessing the rooms y’all have will be equally cool.”

  She nodded. “The rooms are new. Very big. Nice rooms. Almost new.”

  “Well, I’ll definitely take one of them almost new rooms. Now, on to these charms…” Both of them looked at the various tchotchkes she had spread out before her. There was everything from silver rings to beaded anklets, some of the objects clearly designed for women, gaudy, to be worn as an accent piece like her necklace. “I’m looking for something that could give me a boost to my Class Proficiency bonus, if that means anything to you.”

  “Si.”

  “Something like that would be nice, I’m aware that it would be pricey. Another thing: I’m trying to level up my powers real quick like. So if you got something like that, show me. Otherwise, I’m game for something that gives me a boost to my Stat or Technique Points. That’ll do too.”

  “This one has a Class Proficiency bonus,” she said, pointing to a ring with a piece of amber on the end of it. “There’s a scorpion tail inside.”

  Sterling picked up the ring and held it up to the light coming in from outside. Sure enough, he located the scorpion stinger in the center of the piece.

  “My cousin tested it. Every three levels, one level up for your Class Proficiencies.”

  “Every three levels, huh?” Sterling asked. It wasn’t quite rocket science—nothing was when it came to dealing with the game system that has been forced onto his life—but currently, he got a class proficiency bonus every five to seven levels, something like that. Now at Level 60, Sterling assumed he wouldn’t get one until he at least reached Level 66, give or take a level.

  “Si, three levels, señor.”

  “What happens when I get my normal Class Proficiency bonus, does it just double up?”

  “You get a twofer.”

  “Twofer, huh? Ain’t bad,” Sterling said as he placed the ring on his pinky finger, feeling a swell of power for just a moment. A prompt flashed before him.

  Item: Scorpion Tail Ring

  Item Type: Ultra Rare

  Description: An additional class proficiency bonus per three levels gained.

  “A little feminine, and it would get in the way of me punching someone…”

  “You got a necklace?”

  “Two, actually,” Sterling said as he produced the topaz necklace he’d lifted from a female Killbilly, which granted an additional resolve point per level, and his arrowhead rattlesnake necklace, which granted eight additional Technique Points per level.

  “You can put it on there.”

  “I’m about to be broke, ain’t I?” Sterling asked as he retrieved his bag of turquoise and silver. This comment made the woman laugh, the seller burying her face in the corner of the cloth that was draped over her shoulder as she eyed Sterling’s money.

  “Here’s what I want,” he told her. “This here ring; room for the night and a place to take a bath; dinner and a big ol’ breakfast tomorrow before I head out. But I am in dire need of funds, because I’m heading north, and only God knows what I’m going to encounter that way. Anything need doing around here? Let’s talk.”

  “We are talking,” she said, growing dead serious.

  “No need to change the temperature of the room,” Sterling assured her. “I saw your boys working on an ATV out there. Belongs to the Killbillies, right?”

  “Pinche puto Killbillies,” she muttered.

  “I’m right there with you, bunch of good-for-nothing pinche puto idiotas.” Sterling smiled once again at the woman, hoping that the points he had put into his Persuasion technique would aid him with what he planned to ask next. “So how’s about this: you point me in the direction of them Killbillies, and I’ll clear them out like a bunch of cucarachas. You’ll never see them again. Cut me a discount on this here ring, as well as room and board for the night, plus them meals, and we’ll call it even. What do you say?”

  “You’ll kill them?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll kill them. Unless you don’t want me to, then I’ll kill them and I won’t tell you I killed them. How’s that?”

  “No, you can kill them…” A bitter look came across the woman’s face. “They took one of ours, my niece. They said they will bring her back when we fix their vehicle. They have weapons…”

  “Is that so? Then I’ll get her back too. We got ourselves a deal or what?” Sterling asked as he took the ring off his finger and set it back down on the wool blanket. He extended his hand to the woman and she reached forward to shake it.

  “Sí, we have a deal.”

  “Like I said, point me in the right direction of them ‘Billies, and I will rid you of your little roach problem. I’ll bring you back their bandannas, and hell, your niece, as proof. One more thing. There ain’t been a man dressed in all white come around here, has there?”

  She looked at him curiously for a moment, as if he were putting her on. “A man in all white?”

  “I don’t know much about him other than he was probably wearing a three-piece white suit like some type of ecclesiastic jackass, probably acting real tough too.”

  “Maybe no,” she said, before hesitating. “But I’m not always here. I will ask about this man in white, and let you know what the others say when you return.”

  “One more thing I want to show you,” Sterling said, accessing his inventory list. He got the seal that Don Gasper had given them. “Just in case this means anything to you. It sure did to the Hopi up the way.”

  The woman examined the wax seal, raising an eyebrow as she did so. “This is from Don Gasper?”

  “Sure is, the way you’re looking at it tells me that’s a bad thing.”

  “Hombre sinverguenza…” she said with disgust.

  “Heh, I don’t disagree with you there, ma’am. He is a bit of a scoundrel. Anyway, I thought you might want to see it,” Sterling said as he promptly sent the seal back to his inventory list. “Now, it’ll be dark soon, and I’d like to get this little situation of yours wrapped up before supper, if you don’t mind. Where are them Killbillies, and how many did you see?”

  .Chapter Five.

  Sterling crossed Interstate 25 heading west from the Tiwa outpost. What was once a g
ood-sized village, Los Lunas was now in disarray, defined by its rubble and sparse parking lots, the asphalt cracked, most of the road signs removed. He passed a Walmart Supercenter, Sterling recognizing it as the same warehouse-like store they once had in Truth or Consequences. He could only imagine what it would have looked like then, and what they could have held inside.

  The before people sure liked to buy a bunch of bullshit, Sterling thought as he rode in the direction that the Tiwa woman had pointed him. Sometimes, it felt like buying useless things was all the before people used to do. Sterling had searched through enough debris to wonder how they could afford so much pointless junk, especially without an inventory list. It was yet another mystery, one that he would likely never know the answer to unless he got his memory back.

  Sterling aimed his skeletal steed toward the reserve that sat in the southwest corner of the village, the cluster of mountains partially surrounded by abandoned subdivisions, just a few of the homes still standing, vehicles in their driveway stripped of their wheels and surrounded by halos of broken glass from their windshields. The sound of an ATV engine caught his attention. Sterling quickly galloped to the shade of an adobe wall, some of its inner brick exposed.

  Sure enough, a Killbilly sped by, the man boldly standing on his ATV, bandanna whipping in the wind, his face covered in smudges and tattoos.

  Once he was gone, Sterling dismounted, and sent Manchester and his saddle to his inventory list. He followed the tracks of the ATV, veering off toward the hills after he realized that the Killbillies had set up shop beneath a ridge. He ventured even further into the preserve until he found the trail, which looped him back around to the bandits’ campsite, creeping now, Sterling well-aware that it was still daylight out and that he could easily be spotted.

  He kept to the rockface, listening for any sounds of activity ahead of him, Sterling not quite able to see what happened once the path veered to the west. He moved even slower as he got to the apex of the turn, where he finally heard some movement on the other side. He paused once he heard laughter. Sterling turned the corner to see a Killbilly standing guard above a small gully, the man’s focus now on the campsite below, and what the group of bandits were laughing at.

  He hopped down and moved on the Killbilly quickly, his hand coming around his mouth, his sickle-sword slitting his throat. Sterling brought the man to the ground and finished what he was doing, using his knee for support as he cut the man’s head off. “Yup,” Sterling said once he finished the grisly task and wiped his sword. He sheathed his weapon, retrieved the Killbilly’s bloodied bandanna, and sent it to his inventory list as evidence.

  Sterling crept on, now holding the man’s severed head by the hair.

  The ridgeline overlooked the camp below, Sterling spotting two large tents connected in the middle, similar to the one that Commodore Bones had stayed in back in Radium Springs. There was a pair of ATVs, and by the size of the camp, Sterling assumed that there were only five or six more Killbillies left.

  Still holding the severed head in one hand, he gauged the distance between his current location and the fire that most of the Killbillies were huddled around about ten feet below. He could make it if he jumped, and since he would have something to collapse into, his fear of heights wasn’t holding him back from what he planned to do. There was also the option of continuing his stealth mission, trying to see how many he could pick off before the others were alerted. But Sterling was itching for a fight, and he could try sneaky tactics at another time, preferably at night.

  “You ready to take a little trip?” he asked the severed head as he gave life to it, the man’s eyes blinking open.

  Sterling tossed the head toward the campfire below and scooted back so he wouldn’t be immediately visible to the person tasked with checking out the commotion. The snarling, animated head certainly caused some commotion, one of the Killbillies quickly making his way over to investigate it, a female.

  “What the fuck? Evan!?”

  Sterling leapt from the ridgeline and tackled the Killbilly. He rolled to his feet, his revolver ready to go. Bam! Bam! Two shots took down the female bandit, both magic bullets exploding out of the back of her skull. He swiveled and shot another dead.

  The next Killbilly flew toward him. Sterling holstered his weapon as he jumped forward to address his assailant. He slammed into the man and grabbed him by the throat, Sterling summoning his Mold Manipulation power.

  “Been meaning to test this,” he said through gritted teeth, a fuzzy green mold spreading up the Killbilly’s throat and into his mouth and later his nostrils and eyes, the man yelping in pain. Sterling held him until he was sure he was dead.

  Everything flashed black for a moment as he was hit over the shoulders by what felt like a sledgehammer. Tumbling forward, Sterling was able to right himself just in time to hear a cry from one of the tents, which he assumed was the Tiwa woman that had been taken prisoner.

  “Come on,” he managed to call out as he got back to his feet, Sterling turning to the man who had struck him. The brute was easily over seven feet tall, muscled like a bull, practically snorting smoke. No tattoos, but he had the trademark Killbilly bandanna tied around his neck, and the trademark inbred Killbilly scowl plastered across his face.

  He looked at Sterling’s weapons and lifted his fists.

  “That’s how you want to do this, dipshit?” Sterling asked, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “Alright by me.”

  Sterling brought his fists to the ready and approached the muscular Killbilly, the two circling each other for a moment. He threw the first punch; the Killbilly blocked it and struck him with a fist that felt like it had shattered Sterling’s jaw. The punch sent him into a crate, Big Jim peppers spilling out.

  “I’m going to take these peppers after I finish you off,” Sterling said, his jaw aching, blood dripping down his chin. “You done fucked up now, big boy.”

  Sterling bolted forward again, this time avoiding the Killbilly’s strike and coming back with an uppercut that sent the man up and over. The brute landed on his back and hopped to his feet, grunting as he brought his fists back up.

  “You got a name, son?”

  The Killbilly spat blood, and Sterling did the same. “You really think you’re tough, don’t you?”

  “No, but I’m tougher than your pansy-ass,” Sterling said. “I just wanted a name so I know what words to spell out when I take a piss on your corpse.”

  The Killbilly charged him. “Fuck you!”

  The two traded blows, the Killbilly’s connecting, Sterling’s next jab doing the same. They did it again and again, everything flashing as the big man’s fists met Sterling’s face. The cowboy necromancer spat a tooth on the ground, knowing that if he survived this it would regrow.

  “Now you’ve gone and pissed me off,” Sterling said. He was only able to see out of one eye now, his face black and blue, his flesh feeling as if it had been softened up by a meat tenderizer. His next strike took the Killbilly off his feet, and for a moment, Sterling thought the man was down for the count. But he managed to get up again, the brute’s face crisscrossed in blood and foamy spit.

  Sterling could always use his firearm and be done with this, but that wasn’t his style. Even if he knew the Killbillies had little in terms of scruples, Sterling had enough cowboy chivalry to go around, just about as close to a man of honor as someone came in the post-apocalyptic Southwest.

  He barely managed to sidestep the Killbilly’s next fist, Sterling following up with a gut punch. The brute clapped him against the side of the head with his big hand, his hearing off for a moment, his brain all shook up.

  The powerful fist that the Killbilly delivered next seemed strong enough to punch a hole through steel, Sterling surprised that his skull didn’t crater. The strike left him on the ground, Sterling ready to draw his revolver if the Killbilly did something like try to kick at him. But he didn’t; the man let him get up, just as Sterling had let him get up just a few m
oments back.

  “We need to finish this,” Sterling said, his words a bit slurred together now, his tongue numb, mouth full of blood and tasting of iron.

  The thought of the hot bath he would have later and a nice place to rest his head for the night once he finished up here inspired Sterling to get on with it. He exploded forward, two quick jabs to the Killbilly’s face, followed by a big fist to the gut, and a final uppercut that sent the Killbilly to the ground, where he stayed.

  Sterling gave him a minute or so to get up, but the man never did, down for the count. “You put up a good fight,” Sterling said as he drew his revolver, “I’ll give you that.” He walked past the Killbilly, and as he did, he blew out the back of his head.

  Bam!

  Sterling heard more muffled yelps from the tents. Rather than go directly to the hostage, he took a moment to catch his breath. After examining the peppers, he collected the loose silver and turquoise that was on an overturned crate, individual playing cards scattered across the ground.

  He was just turning to the tent when an idea came to him. Sterling looked back toward the scattered Killbilly bodies. He settled on the female Killbilly whom he had shot in the head, blood pooling in the dirt. He shifted the woman aside and crouched before the blood.

  Sterling extended his hand, summoning his Death Whisper ability.

  A feminine face began to form along the surface of the blood. The woman gasped, her eyes blinking open, everything glistening crimson. “Where… Where am I?”

  “It don’t matter,” Sterling said as he looked down at the face he had conjured. “I’ll make this quick. Who’s the man in all white?”

  “Who? Who are you?” she whispered, afraid.

  “I’m the devil. The Killbillies—that’s your people—sent a man clad all in white after the cowboy necromancer. A bounty hunter of sorts. What’s his name?”

  “You mean… Ram?”

  “That his name?”