Guns of Perdition

by Jessica Bakkers

  Cottonmouth shrugged. “Mayhap. But remember this: there ain’t none in this land, nor above or below, as powerful as the lamb.” Cottonmouth stared into Jessie’s eyes. “Only the blood of the lamb—the sacrifice—can end this game.”

  Silence lengthened and grew between them.

  Finally, Cottonmouth scratched his beard and nudged Jessie. “Promise me something, son.” The old prospector’s face was solemn. “Once it’s done, once it’s ended, you get shy of them traveling companions. Ain’t no room on a cart for no fifth wheel.”

  Jessie frowned and started to speak. Cottonmouth cut him off with a quick gesture. “Don’t get defensive. I see your moon-eyed fixation with her. Ain’t manly, son. Have a bit of goddamn self-respect.”

  Jessie went cold and tore his gaze away from Cottonmouth’s face. His scalp prickled and his stomach churned.

  When he turned back, Cottonmouth was gone.

  Jessie was sitting on the cliff hurling stones over the void when Kaga came to find him. His legs dangled over the edge, and the stones he threw whistled into nothingness as they descended to the barren mesa below. Jessie didn’t stir as Kaga strolled up and gracefully settled down beside him.

  Jessie tossed another stone into the emptiness. “She send you out here to find me?”

  Kaga stared out over the moonlit mesa. “She was concerned. I was too.”

  “She wasn’t concerned enough to come herself.” Jessie tossed another stone and immediately felt for the next one in the dwindling supply beside him.

  “She’s talking to the others. Telling them about the Gunman’s request.”

  Jessie snorted. “Request? Divine decree more like.”

  Kaga cocked his head to the side, but when the silence stretched out between them, he sighed and reached out. He dropped his warm hand onto Jessie’s shoulder and said, “Come. We need to be together tonight.”

  Jessie lowered the stone he’d been about to piff and turned to Kaga. The man’s scarred face was like a living map, highlighting the trials and terrors they’d faced; this scar was collected from the undead in Sandycrag Creek. That scar came from the kobolds of Barren Mountain.

  Jessie too had his share of scars... most of them across his heart.

  “Kaga, this ain’t gonna end good. Whatever way it goes, it’s gonna end in blood.”

  Kaga frowned. He shifted his hand to his belt and pulled out a small knife. He wrapped his large hand around the blade and quickly pulled the knife from his fist.

  Jessie hissed as Kaga opened his hand and revealed a wicked gash across his palm. Kaga held out his bloody hand. Jessie hesitated for a moment, then laid his own hand, palm up, in Kaga’s. The sticky blood was warm on the back of his hand. Kaga reached out and brought the dagger across Jessie’s palm. Before Jessie could snatch his hand away, Kaga turned Jessie’s hand over and clapped his hand to Jessie’s, palm to palm.

  “There,” Kaga said. “So it ends with blood. But we are now brothers in blood. And if your blood spills, so does mine.”

  Fresh tears rolled down Jessie’s cheeks. They sat on the edge of the cliff, staring out over the mesa for a long time, their hands clasped together.

  When they finally rose to their feet, Kaga smiled and said, “Come, brother.”

  They made their way back to Worm Wood and the destiny awaiting them.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  It was hot and cramped in the little rented room of The Last Saloon. Jessie propped himself against a wall and craned his neck so he could peer out the second-story window. Tokota, too large and wild to be cooped up indoors, also leaned against a wall with his arms firmly crossed over his chest. Ruby perched on the very edge of the bed, while Aaron Boothe lay in the middle, sprawled out with his elbow on the pillow, his hand cupping his cheek. He juggled a glass of brandy in his free hand. He left no room for anyone else to claim a portion of the bed. Not that anyone had made a move to do so after he’d flopped down. Grace had grabbed a high-backed wooden chair, dragged it around, and straddled it backward, her legs splayed open and her arms folded across the back of the chair. She dragged on a glowing cheroot and puffed smoke into the air. Kaga, her ever-present shadow, hovered behind her, his large hands kneading her neck.

  Ruby was the first to speak following Grace’s flat explanation of events at the poker table. “So, do we believe him? That we are somehow destined to ride by moonlight and take out the roaming creatures of the night?”

  Grace smiled tightly, as though tickled by Ruby’s fanciful description.

  Boothe took a quaff from the squat brandy glass he held. “Bunch of malarkey, if you ask me. Creatures of the night.” He made a rude snorting sound.

  Kaga shot the man a dark look and muttered, “Yes, creatures like those fiends living in the dark of your mine.”

  Boothe sniffed and took another sip of brandy.

  Ruby shook her head and her earrings jangled. “No. I think we can all agree such horrors do exist. We have all seen them with our own eyes. The question is, do we follow this Gunman’s decree and hunt them down or—”

  “—or do we stick a gun in his face and blow his brains all over the ground,” Grace finished.

  Ruby frowned but nodded. “Weh. It comes down to whether we believe we are indeed these Four Horsemen he seems to think we are.”

  Boothe snorted again. “I’ve been called many things in my time, but a Horseman of the Apocalypse takes the biscuit.”

  Ruby shrugged. “I’m inclined to agree.”

  Boothe’s grin widened. “Well now, I said I found it hard to believe about myself. You, darlin’, I can dang well believe is the Horseman of Conquest.” He leered at Ruby, who rolled her eyes and turned her back on him.

  “I believe him,” Tokota said in his deep rumble. The others turned to him and he looked down at his hands. “I believe we are these spirits—these Four Horsemen. I also believe we have been brought together for this cause.”

  Kaga frowned. “What cause?” he asked in a carefully neutral tone.

  Tokota looked the native man in the eye, and though his lip didn’t curl in anger, distaste was evident in his tone when he said, “To slaughter every beast and demon who walks this land.”

  Grace glared at Tokota. She took a long draw on her cheroot then flicked the end out the open window. “Are you forgetting just who it was that came to the aid of your kin back at the Hollow?”

  Tokota shook his head. “I forget nothing. Like the slaughter of my people by yee naaldlooshii in our blessed place.”

  Kaga closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists. “I thought we’ve been over this. That pack was under his control.”

  “Like the girls at Le Chat Affamee,” Ruby said quietly. It was unclear whether her words were meant to support or denounce Kaga’s claim.

  “Sica!” Tokota spat.

  “Say it again!” Grace growled as her hand fell on Justice. Kaga’s fingers pressed against her skin as he tightened his grip around her upper arms. Boothe raged into a tirade about his mine and the so-called miners who’d been in his employ. Tokota glared at Kaga, and Ruby held up her hands ineffectually.

  “Enough!”

  The room fell silent in the wake of Jessie’s sharp cry. Bone-deep weariness settled over him as they turned their angry eyes on him. He felt tired. He felt old.

  “Cain’t you all see this is just what he wants? You lot barking at each other and bobbering like a bunch of chickabiddies.”

  Ruby sniffed and brushed a piece of imaginary lint from her arm. “So, what do you believe, Jessie? Is this cauchemar correct? Are we these famed Horsemen of legend, destined to reap the evil and filth in this world?”

  Jessie studied his hands. He wore a dirty bandage around one, stained brown with blood. He was silent for a long time. When he raised his gaze, he looked at Grace. “Yeah...you’re the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. But you ain’t supposed to just reap the evil things in the world. You’re supposed to reap all the things in the world.”

  Si
lence descended as Jessie’s words hung in the air like the thick stench of horseshit.

  Grace frowned and straightened up. “Jessie, what’re you saying?”

  “I’m saying, the Darksome Gunman don’t make no distinction between demons and men. He don’t make a distinction between calico queens with fangs and honest to God womenfolk. He don’t make a distinction between them little biting cannibal things and children.”

  Jessie peered directly into Grace’s eyes. “He means to set you against all life. Wipe the slate clean.”

  Again silence followed his words. Then they all spoke at once.

  “Pfft, what does the stupid kid know?”

  “Ga lee!”

  “This...this makes sense.”

  “Jessie, are you sure?” This last was spoken by Grace. Her expression was unusually somber, and where she gripped the back of the chair, her knuckles were white.

  Jessie didn’t look at the others. He kept his gaze fixed on Grace as misery swirled his stomach to nausea.

  “The Gunman's true name is Abaddon. He’s the Angel of the Abyss. The Angel of Destruction, and he’s carrying out God’s plan to...purge the world. And there ain’t no purge if only some of the world’s folk are killed.”

  Instead of exclamations, this time Jessie’s words were greeted with muttered oaths and grim expressions.

  Grace licked her lips and eyed Jessie warily. “You’re saying the Darksome Gunman...is an angel?”

  Jessie nodded.

  “And he’s working to God’s plan?”

  Again Jessie nodded. He expected Grace to “p’shaw” him and wave away the notion with a rude gesture of her hand. When she lowered her gaze to the back of the chair, Jessie knew she believed him. Her belief oddly didn’t bring him any comfort. He wondered if her disregard would have eased his troubled mind. Grace’s acceptance of the Gunman’s true identity and purpose made it all seem so much more real. And imminent.

  Boothe sat up on the bed and frowned as he looked around at the long faces in the room. “Wait a minute. You’re not all buying this bunk are you? The boy’s clearly plumb crazy.”

  “Shut your hole,” Grace snapped without looking up. She rose to her feet and swung a leg around the chair. She crossed the floor and stood before Jessie.

  At some stage during their journey, Jessie had had a growth spurt, and he now stood slightly taller than her, yet she seemed larger than life and scarier than Hell standing so close before him. He nervously scratched the beard that covered his chin and rubbed a finger over the little scar below his eye he’d acquired in one of their scrapes. He drew in a deliberately deep breath and inwardly swooned as her scent tickled his nose. Hot confusion welled inside his chest as Grace took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes.

  “So, what are we meant to do?” she asked.

  “Weh, if this is true and it’s God’s plan, should we, you know, question Him?” Ruby’s voice was hesitant.

  Tokota snorted. “This ‘God’s plan’ and angel talk does not matter. We should take up the reins of hunting down the evil things that roam the land. Why are we even debating it?”

  “Because it ain’t just the evil things the Gunman wants killed. It’s mankind too,” Jessie sighed.

  “As in Revelations?” Boothe rasped, revealing a hidden reservoir of knowledge behind his greedy exterior.

  Jessie nodded.

  Boothe shrugged. “Then who are we to stand in the way? You said it yourself, boy. It’s God’s plan.”

  Grace rounded on him and pressed her hands against her hips. “And what of free will? Are we ace-high cards or just a bunch of small-fry throwaway cards in some divine being’s game of sharps?”

  “Game? You call all this a game?” Boothe asked.

  Grace smiled, though there was no humor in her grin. “That’s all it ever was. A game with rules we didn’t understand. But guess what. I’ve seen his trump card and I ain’t playing his game no more.”

  Ruby shrugged. “Maybe, but we are talking of the Heavenly Father and His emissary. What can we do against Them? Grace is a fine shot and Kaga is special in his duality. Tokota is one of the bravest men I have ever known, and I have my own gifts.” She looked at Boothe and curled her upper lip. “Even he brings something, I suppose, but still, who among us can truly stand up to an Angel of God?”

  Jessie reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his battered journal. “I can.”

  Grace turned and searched Jessie’s eyes. She gently squeezed his arm. “Jessie?”

  He returned her gaze and a small smile touched his lips.

  “I’m the lamb.”

  They spoke for a while longer before going their separate ways to spend the night in the pursuit of happiness. Perhaps their last night alive. Going up against an angel was not like licking butter off a knife; there was a good chance they might not survive meeting the Darksome Gunman when the morrow broke.

  Tokota drifted away first. He slipped out the door without a word, and Jessie felt in his bones the native man was going to seek out a quiet place under the stars and spend the night thinking of his lost friend, Enapay.

  Boothe made a pass at Ruby and received nothing but an ice-cold shoulder in return. She got up with the languid grace of a cat and left with a cocky glance at Boothe. Jessie wondered if she’d spend the night in the arms of one of Worm Wood’s dark suitors. It was likely.

  Boothe grumbled as he grabbed the empty brandy balloon. He departed, muttering loudly about needing a goddamn drink.

  And so, they were just three. Jessie contemplated asking Grace and Kaga to join him in a drink until he looked over and saw her lean her head against Kaga and close her eyes. His arms came around her protectively and he stroked her dirty-blond hair. There was something so painfully sweet about the gesture that Jessie’s words died on his lips. He silently crossed the floor and let himself out.

  As he leaned against the wall beside the bedroom door, he lowered his face to his hands. Soon the sounds of Grace and Kaga’s lovemaking greeted him. On this night he couldn’t feel bitterness or jealousy as he listened to Grace’s soft moans. Instead, lonely weariness consumed him as he slowly slid down the wall and crouched beside the door. Tears rolled unchecked down his face, and for once, he didn’t dash them away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The afternoon sun burned Jessie’s skin with an intensity unusual this late in the season, and there was no shade in the middle of the street. Any shadows created by the overhead sun were squat and hugged the base of the surrounding buildings. Small piles of dung drew droning flies and created a pungent aroma that wafted about on the lazy breeze. Some of the dung piles’ winged patrons buzzed around Jessie, who angrily brushed them away as he sat among his strange cadre.

  Ruby perched elegantly atop Lumière in a gown of green satin that complemented her rich walnut-colored skin. She peered out from beneath the wide, sweeping brim of an elegant feathered hat. Her green gaze was languid as she gazed around the deserted town, and the overhead sun glinted off the silver Derringer in her lap.

  Beside Lumière—night to her day—stood the jet-black Onyx with Aaron Boothe hunched on his back. The man wore black as deep and rich as Onyx’s coat, and he caressed his stunning Colt Dragoon five-shooter with his gloved hands.

  Giving credence to his name and fiery nature, the russet-colored Uzeblikblik swayed beside Onyx, pawing at the ground and snorting as the hot sun beat down on him and his rider. Tokota let the horse have his rein to prance in agitation, as the native warrior unslung the Sharps rifle from his back and set it in the crook of his arm.

  Crowbait leered as Uzeblikblik came too close and nipped the stallion. She gnashed her teeth but accepted the calming pat on her withers from her rider. Grace sat straight-backed in her dusty duds and battered John B. The pearl handles of Justice and Mercy gleamed at her hips, and across her back sat her cavalry saber in a crude homemade strap. She lowered her gaze to the massive black wolf who stood by her side. Kaga looked up at her an
d whined. Grace nodded at him, then returned her gaze to the street.

  The duckling among the swans was Jessie. He sat on his ordinary gelding, an ordinary youth in ordinary clothes, feeling anything but ordinary. The Colt pressed uncomfortably against his abdomen, and the sun bit the back of his neck mercilessly. His gaze roved around the empty town, and he squinted as a rogue wind swirled up a maelstrom of gritty sand. Jessie cricked his neck as he looked up at the sun.

  High noon.

  He lowered his gaze in time to see the white-washed front door of the church flung open. A man, clad entirely in black, stepped onto the covered porch. As he ambled down the front steps, the shadows that clung to the church detached from the building and merged with him. Shadows coalesced beneath the brim of his Stetson, hiding his face in darkness. Not that Jessie needed to see his face. He knew the ambling figure who slowly strolled into the street. It seemed to Jessie he’d known the Darksome Gunman all his life. Strife. Torture. Destruction. These were the mantles he wore, the truths he sowed.

  With a shaking hand, Jessie patted his chest and felt his journal tucked in his inner vest pocket. He lowered his hand and clutched Paul’s reins.

  The Darksome Gunman took his time strolling across the street. His black boots scuffed the dirt and his spurs jingled merrily as he approached the mounted riders. Jessie thought he might appear small and demure without a horse beneath him, but the Gunman was as imposing as ever when he stopped a few feet before them, his thumbs hooked in his belt and his legs splayed. The silver equalizer he wore across his pelvis glinted in the sunlight.

  The errant breeze died, leaving an expectant heavy hush over the town.

  “Well now, glad to see you all made it.” The Gunman’s tone was genial. He raised a gloved hand to the brim of his hat and tilted it toward Ruby in an overly gallant greeting. “We got here the grand madame, the glutted tycoon, the warchief, and Miss Grace—the gravedigger. What a handsome bunch.”