Cowboy Necromancer: Infinite Dusk

by Harmon Cooper

  “Grab yourself a beer, and get me a refill while you’re at it. Jennifer seems to think it’s high time to cut me off, and I ain’t having none of that.”

  Sierra smirked. “You really are calling the shots, aren’t you?”

  “Not normally, to be honest with you, but I feel like drinking the day away and enjoying myself for once, plus I’d like to talk to you a little more. So oblige me.”

  “Would you now?”

  Sterling ashed his cigarette as a response to her question and nodded. It wasn’t long before Sierra had joined him on the front porch of the restaurant, the pyromancer now with a beer as well. Sterling removed his legs from the railing and turned to her.

  “Let’s hear it,” he said after they toasted their mugs together. “How did you end up in Madrid?”

  “I was in Denver during the Reset,” she began. “Driving home from work.”

  “Damn, you were in your car?”

  “That’s right. Suddenly, the cars started to swerve, and I couldn’t see out my windshield because of the blood.”

  “The blood?”

  “I was taking a coworker home. We lived in the same neighborhood. One minute, I’m just driving along, and the next, the inner windshield is covered in blood and brains, vehicles are swerving and an eighteen-wheeler hits the back of my little car. It was bad. I wonder how many people died during the Reset from car accidents, you know, people who would have normally lived but happened to be in a car when it happened.”

  “That’s a damn good point,” Sterling said. He had wondered similar things before. He’d come across plane crashes in the desert, but there were myriad other jobs that a person could have been doing when the Reset happened that would have resulted in their death. “It’s amazing we’re alive.”

  “I wasn’t so happy about it at first,” Sierra told him. “And just like that, I can conjure fire, I can fly, do all sorts of wild things. And then there’s the system that the Godwalkers put into place, and the only way we are able to level up is by killing people. That’s one of the parts that bothers me the most. The only way to actually improve is to kill people and things. And not just normal things, like a bunny rabbit, it has to be an amalgamation.”

  “I stopped trying to give too much thought to it myself. Ain’t no sense in analyzing something that defies our sense of reality as much as this place, and as a byproduct, our existence.”

  “You say that, but I’d put good silver on the fact that you’ve thought long and hard about these things. I’d be right, wouldn’t I?”

  Sterling grinned. “Maybe.”

  And so it went, the two drinking beers late into the afternoon, talking about everything under the sun aside from a few choice details of Sterling’s past, Sierra loosening up, and Sterling riding the tidal wave of an epic buzz that he assumed would see him into the night.

  For once, Sterling couldn’t shake this notion that it was good to be alive, that maybe he was even blessed, even if he continually existed within the heart of a sandstorm with Killbillies, cultists, Godwalkers, amalgamations, Albuquerque gangbangers, and now bounty hunters swirling around him.

  At least it was calm for the time being; at least he had good company.

  .Chapter Eight.

  Maybe things could have heated up between Sterling and Sierra the pyromancer, and he certainly would have let them, but the cowboy necromancer had made the same mistake many men had made both before and after the Reset: he had drunk too much.

  The rest of the day was a blur, a flash of vignettes that Sterling had to piece together the next morning once he woke up in a guestroom of what he assumed was Raylan’s home. He recalled animating the skeleton of a dog and entertaining some locals by making the pooch do a few tricks. He also remembered doing some target practice with a guy who had a charm shop next to the restaurant, and he was pretty sure he got into an actual pissing match with a farmer from Taos who was just stopping through. Then there was a kiss on the cheek from Sierra. Sterling was almost certain that had happened, plus additional rounds of beer with Raylan, the flectomancer going over the details of what he was creating for Sterling.

  All he knew on that fateful morning upon waking was that Raylan was almost finished. Sterling had seen these sorts of mancers work before. He knew that they worked in a very unique way, first building or splicing together an object and then imbuing it with their own Mana to give it power. He was pretty sure that Raylan had said he would be able to reduce the Mana drain from Sterling’s revolver, and as he finally rolled over in bed, he found that his weapon was missing.

  Did I give it to him last night? Sterling thought as he sat up, his head pounding, a soft pink light pressing through the paisley drapes of a two-story home made of wood, the bedroom spacious and tidy. Sterling shook his head. “You drunk fool.”

  The world shook as he placed his feet on the ground, Sterling’s mouth painfully dry, his head feeling like someone had taken his brain out of his head, rolled it down the hill into a cactus patch, and then dunked it back in. “Shee-it…” Sterling slowly went through the process of getting dressed. He didn’t remember removing his clothes last night, but they were all on a chair, Sterling’s eyes falling to an unfamiliar red shirt and a pair of patched women’s jeans.

  It was then that he sensed a presence behind him.

  Sterling looked over his shoulder, startled to see Sierra lying in his bed, the dark-haired woman topless and in a pair of black panties. “Goddammit,” Sterling whispered, not quite sure if they had hooked up or not. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose, once again going through the slivers of images in his head. He remembered that she had kissed him, but he didn’t remember much after that. Damn. Now seated on the edge of the bed, Sterling equipped his rolling papers and some tobacco, quickly rolling himself a thin cigarette. He lit it, the smell waking Sierra.

  “Morning, handsome,” she said as she sat up, not at all embarrassed to be topless. Sterling looked away. The dark-haired pyromancer got out of bed and went to the chair in front of him, sitting on his clothes, crossing one leg over the other, almost daring him to look. She had several tattoos on her body, and one between her breasts, something that resembled a fleur-de-lis.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said, just in case he needed to start this conversation with an apology.

  “What’s there to be sorry about?” Sierra looked down at her breasts and then back up at him. “This? Nothing happened. Both of us were…” She smirked at him. “Has anyone ever warned you about drinking all day?”

  “Yeah, it ain’t the best idea,” he said as he offered her a puff of his cigarette. “But someone had to do it.” His head still spinning, Sterling squinted toward the wooden floorboards, willing his hangover to go away. He knew that with his healing ability it should have been taken care of overnight, that was, unless he drank enough to almost kill a man, which he couldn’t rule out considering how he currently felt.

  “You’ll be okay,” she said as she exhaled a cloud of gray smoke.

  “Did I drink any tequila?”

  “Just a bottle or two.”

  “Two bottles? For Pete’s sake…” Sterling equipped one of his jugs of water. He took a long pull off it and sighed again. “You seen my revolver?”

  “You gave that to Raylan.”

  “Figures. My sword?”

  “Other side of the bed.”

  “Okay, that explains that,” Sterling said, gesturing his water jug to Sierra, who declined. “Are you going to put a top on?”

  “My breasts bothering you?”

  Sterling traced his eyes around them for a moment, and once again took a look at her tattoos. He shook his head. “It ain’t that, I’m just…” He worked on the cigarette she returned to him. “Damn.”

  Sierra started laughing. “You’re a strange man, you know that?”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “Oh, yeah? What have you been called?”

  “Rec
ently?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, someone said I was Skeleton Man, which is the Hopi god of death. I’m sure a couple other people in New Mexico are cursing my name right about now, including Commodore Bones, leader of the Killbillies.”

  “You told me about him yesterday.”

  “Yup, and whatever I said I meant. They, and especially he, can fuck right the fuck off.”

  “You said something to that effect.”

  “And then there’s the bounty hunter that’s after me, Ram, the cryomancer. He probably has a few choice words for me. I’m sure there are a few others. I’ll tell you one person who is going to be cursing my name sooner rather than later—the telemancer that runs the Culto Demente Sagrado…” Sterling shook his head. “But I probably rambled about her enough last night. Welp, I guess I got to get back to it. Get me the hell out of here, grab the Sunflower Kid, then get on down to the desert. Time’s a ticking.”

  Sierra took the cigarette from him and finished it. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Where should I start?”

  “You wake up with a rare catch like me, and your first reaction is to start rambling, as you put it, about people that don’t like you, and what you need to do today?” Sierra laughed. “Like I said, you’re a strange man, but somewhat typical.”

  “Ain’t nothing about me typical,” Sterling said as he reached a hand out to her face.

  The ground shook.

  The room split in two, a twenty-foot-high blade of ice slicing through the space and separating the two of them, a sharpness spreading up his arm. The pain that followed was like nothing he had never experienced before, Sterling’s right arm completely cut off at the elbow. Blood gushed from the wound, another enormous blade of ice moving through the space.

  “My arm!” Sterling managed to shout once the house began to crumble. He gasped as a huge fireball flared in front of him, igniting everything as Sierra burst through the roof. The home collapsed as another blade of ice cut into the room, this one coming inches away from Sterling’s face he tried to press himself out of the rubble, his severed arm bleeding profusely.

  He only caught a glimpse before a whirlwind of snow struck him, yet Sterling saw the bounty hunter known as Ram standing across from the house, on a platform of ice, the man in all white and carrying an almost blank expression on his face.

  Then everything came tumbling down.

  Jagged spikes of ice tore from the ground just as a bewildered Sterling finally got out of the rubble, only to be greeted by an anthropomorphic animate made of ice, sharp protrusions jutting off its back. It swung at Sterling and he managed to avoid its first strike by ducking right, the shock surging through Sterling finally morphing into fury. Calling upon his incredible strength, he sent his left fist into the anthropomorphic man’s chest, exploding it, another whirlwind of snow bringing Sterling off his feet.

  The snow had already started to mix with the gravel, which was peppered with the blood dripping from Sterling’s severed arm as his healing factor, his Resolve, kicked into high gear. The only thing was, Sterling knew that he wouldn’t be able to grow the limb back. This was one thing he had learned over the last five years, and why he always kept his limbs in mind while he fought—while he could heal, he wasn’t able to grow something like an arm, at least not at his current level.

  Even angrier at Ram, and with a flash of an idea in mind as to how he could fix his severed arm, Sterling charged through the blizzard toward the cryomancer, fueled by adrenaline and rage. A blast of fire to his left barely caught his attention, Sterling laser focused now on getting his revenge on the bounty hunter.

  As if it had been turned off by a switch, the blizzard suddenly ceased, blocks of ice crumbling into dust. Sterling was presented with several anthropomorphic ice men, all of them with their arms crossed over their chests. They spoke in unison.

  “Sterling, I was hoping you would be here. Maria gives her regards.”

  One of the animates produced a block of ice with a woman’s head inside, Sterling gasping as he caught the face of the woman from the Isleta Pueblo’s trading post, the woman he had rescued from the Killbillies.

  “H-how?” he asked, cursing himself for not holding onto his revolver overnight.

  “When you didn’t show up in Albuquerque, I took a quick trip to see what became of the message I had left for you,” all of the ice men said, once again speaking in unison. “Not knowing which direction you traveled, I headed back toward the trading post, figuring they may have seen you. Don’t worry. I made sure that they suffered horribly, especially this one.”

  Sterling looked at the head suspended in the block of ice. Maria’s eyes were open, her lips slightly parted, whiteness spread across her skin.

  “I’ll kill you!” Sterling charged forward, only to be struck by an enormous ice block, the impact akin to running headfirst into a linebacker made of cement. He hit the ground, practically seeing stars as a burst of fire exploded like a comet above him. What followed was a terrible wrench as the ground shifted, steam hissed, and cries of anger erupted from Sierra.

  Panicking, hoping that Ram hadn’t done something to Sierra, Sterling pushed himself up. Raylan came to his side. The short flectomancer had his goggles on, an enormous weapon in his arms. He fired it repeatedly, the weapon’s report creating a boom that Sterling could feel in his chest.

  And then it was over.

  No more anthropomorphic ice constructs, no razor saw glaciers, the mist had cleared, and the battle had finished. Bewildered, Sterling took a look around to see dozens upon dozens of wet spots scattered across the asphalt. Some of the buildings were destroyed, and an icy peak had ripped through the front porch of the restaurant he’d been at yesterday, steam billowing off its jagged edges.

  “Sierra?” Sterling asked, ignoring the pain in what remained of his right arm, how it pulsed.

  The pyromancer landed, flames rising off her body, the woman’s nudity obscured by the fire. Worry came over her face as she looked from Sterling’s arm to something behind him. He slowly turned his head to see that Raylan’s home was engulfed in flames, plumes of fire lifting off the scattered debris.

  “I’m sorry…”

  “You tried your best to defend the town; I can’t hold it against you. Don’t worry, we’ll get it repaired. And as for you,” he told Sterling as he helped him up. “Your sword will survive the fire. But your arm.” He started to shake his head. “How did Ram know you were here? Did he follow you?”

  Sterling glared down at the ground. He was no longer able to look at his arm, and suddenly felt ashamed for losing it. He cursed himself for getting wasted yesterday, even if that wouldn’t have changed the outcome of the morning. It would have at least made him faster, perhaps he would have been out of the bedroom by the time Ram struck, his sword in his hand.

  “He didn’t follow me,” Sterling finally said, answering Raylan’s question. “Not initially. He went back to the pueblo I stayed at the previous night, and killed them.” He nodded his chin toward Maria’s frozen skull. “It’s pretty clear to me that he interrogated her and found out that I was coming here. This is all my fault.”

  “You said yesterday that it was the Killbillies who put the bounty out on you. This is on them.”

  “No, if I had…” Sterling lowered his head once again. “I just need to keep my mouth shut around strangers. I was too goddamn chatty. Too friendly. If I hadn’t said anything…”

  “By the looks of it, he would have killed them anyway,” Sierra said.

  “Where is his body? I want to… I need to ask his blood something.”

  “Ram’s body?” Sierra asked.

  Sterling tried to ignore the pain he was experiencing, the numbness at his elbow, where his arm used to be. “You killed him, right?”

  “No, he… he got away.”

  “Got away?” Sterling looked up at Sierra in shock. “How does he get away when you’re shooting him full of fireballs, and Rayla
n has a gun here that sounded like a damn cannon going off?”

  “The ice animates that he can apparently create have some form of consciousness,” Raylan explained. “We weren’t able to figure out which one was actually him. We were able to overwhelm them, but he escaped.”

  “Dammit,” Sterling growled. “He doesn’t seem like the type that will stay away for long.”

  “No, I’m afraid he doesn’t.”

  “I can’t bring you two into this.”

  “You’ve already brought us into this,” Raylan said. “The whole town.”

  “I’m sorry. I just appeared, going on about how I plan to take on the Godwalkers, asking you to join me, asking for—”

  Raylan lifted a hand to stop Sterling. “I’m going to join you, I told you that last night. Relax. It looks bad, the town does, but not as bad as your arm. I told you my precondition over breakfast yesterday, if you recall: find a technomancer, and I’ll join up as well. You know, we do have a technomancer here,” Raylan said, nodding to a house at the end of the street. “But she’s just a baby right now. We need one that is older, one that has gained some levels. You bring me that, and we will do this.”

  “I… I don’t deserve your kindness,” Sterling said as he looked at the flectomancer with fondness.

  “I know you would do the same for me, even if I did have a harebrained idea like trying to take on the Godwalkers.”

  Sterling finally grinned.

  “I’ll be joining as well,” Sierra said, brilliant blue, orange, and yellow plumes still licking off her body. “But I have to stay here for now to protect Madrid, just in case Ram comes back.”

  “Oh, I ain’t done with him,” Sterling said, glaring at a pile of ice. “Soon as I get the Sunflower Kid and Roxy, we’ll head to Albuquerque and try to find Zephyr. We’ll deal with Ram as well, and…”

  Raylan nodded. “Your family. The insurance company in Albuquerque. You can go to that address and see if the archives are still intact. You never know.”