The Space Whiskey Death Chronicles

by Vitka, William

  Watching, Palmer barely saw anything that could be defined as movement. Jack was a blur. The machine was in the gunslinger’s holster, and then it was up and pointed at the henchman, and then there was thunder, and then the top of the henchman’s head was gone.

  “It’s gonna happen fast now, sheriff. Cover me,” Jack said as he dropped and grabbed a white brick from his bag.

  Palmer pulled his revolver and crouched behind a desk.

  Boots stomped on the floor above, sounding rushed.

  Down the stairs came three men with pistols drawn.

  Palmer waited until all three were in the room, then popped up from cover and fired. He was a little slower than Jack, but no less deadly. In a heartbeat, it was over. The sheriff held his smoking revolver and the trio of villains laid dead on the ground.

  Jack planted a white brick against the wall and was pushing buttons on the black rectangle that adorned its top. “This is an explosive. Very, very big boom. I’m keying it to a detonator I have in my jacket.”

  Palmer nodded, understanding. More or less.

  The hum from under the house grew into a terrible din. High and low frequencies came together, creating cacophony. The vibrations shook everything.

  Both Jack and Palmer had to put their hands to their ears.

  Yet the paintings did not fall and the glass in the windows did not shatter.

  Outside flashed the blue-green lights that Big Bill had seen. But nothing flashed inside. It was as though the house itself was giving off the light, bursting into brilliance like a beacon.

  Lights are coming from the house itself … The house itself … Jack thought. Is this whole place is a goddamn ship?

  As the noise and the vibration died down, Jack said to a stunned Palmer, “Zloy knows we’re here. He’s kicking things up. Accelerating whatever madness this all is. We need to a move.”

  “Where we going?” Palmer asked.

  “Down.”

  The door was easy to find. And, thanks to Jack’s bag of tricks, easy to open.

  The gunslinger planted another, smaller “charge” and five seconds later there was a smoking hole where the door had been.

  The basement itself wasn’t like any cellar Palmer had ever seen. The only thing it had in common was claustrophobic darkness.

  Everything was metal. Everything was dripping. Everything smelled. The whole environment reacted to that hum that throbbed in his and the gunslinger’s ears.

  They rushed down a curved walkway into the smoke and haze of Zloy’s lair.

  Palmer didn’t even realize there was a black, slick moo-tent bearing down on him until the gunslinger’s machine brought it to a halt.

  “First one’s free,” Jack said as he twirled and re-holstered his weapon. “We need to be careful.” He planted another of his white bricks.

  Seventeen, the gunslinger thought. Seventeen townsfolk left.

  They reached the bottom a minute later. How far down they’d gone, Palmer had no idea.

  Everything here hissed and misted. It was a factory room filled with odd machines and shining, dangerous-looking appliances. An alien landscape of industry.

  Or, as Jack termed it, undustry.

  He planted another white brick.

  “Zloy!” the gunslinger bellowed. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Piss off! I’m busy,” came the shrieking response.

  Jack and Palmer moved forward, through the maze of pipes and oily wetness.

  “You know I was in London a few years from now?” Zloy said, hunched over the carcass of a townsperson on an operating table. He was digging in and up through the abdomen, pulling on tubes from strange machines at his side – the source of the deep thrum, though what precisely the machines did was anyone’s guess.

  Must have something to do with the townspeople-to-mutant conversions, Jack thought.

  “Lovely place, London. Crap food, though,” Zloy said as he yanked one machine out of the corpse and planted a new one. Through a tube, red blood flowed out. Through another, black liquid flowed in. The body on the table jerked and spasmed.

  Palmer stood with his gun trained, eyeing the horror.

  “Zloy,” Jack said, “you’re in violation of Statute 457b, which explicitly prohibits the willful manipulation of a populace for the purposes of experimentation. Especially across the temporal veil.”

  Zloy snorted. “That’s not what I’m doing here.” He stood back from his monster and nodded at it approvingly. Then he turned to face Jack and Palmer. “Not manipulating. Improving.”

  The mad scientist was young. Handsome. His eyes were a deep, penetrating hazel. His hair was jet black, brushed just so. He looked, in fact, like a successful young executive. Except for the gore-covered smock he wore, of course.

  Zloy smiled at Jack. “I thought you’d be taller, considering the stories.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” Jack said.

  Palmer was staring elsewhere, ignoring the exchange entirely. He was distracted, trying to get a look at the thing on the operating table. A dumb, vicious realization was dawning on him.

  Zloy snapped his fingers. Snap snap.

  Six screaming moo-tents came crawling out of the ducts above. Each roughly the size of a man or woman. They were black, as the thing outside had been, with tentacles curling along their spines. They moved like lizards, climbing down the walls.

  Red flared to life in Jack’s mind, and he was again a blur. Bringing thunder and fanning the hammer on his massive gun. Headshots for all. Six bodies dropped to the floor, dripping ichor.

  Eleven left, Jack thought.

  Zloy turned and fled, heading toward the opposite end of the room.

  If it’s a ship, it’s got escape pods, Jack thought. Not good.

  “Stop him, Palmer! I have to reload. SHOOT HIM!” Jack shouted as he planted another white brick with one hand and opened his revolver with the other.

  But the sheriff was enamored with the thing on the slab.

  Zloy disappeared behind a misty wall of steam, snapping his fingers.

  “Shit,” Jack muttered as he dug into his bag, grabbing more white bricks, reloading, putting bullets into the three black things that came at Zloy’s snap snap.

  Eight left.

  Palmer didn’t respond. He just kept staring.

  The messy terror on the table was Palmer’s brother. Or had been. His body was laid out like a frog in science class. Cut up, but not dead. It mewled, turning black. Wormy tentacles worked their way out of his skin.

  Palmer was dumbfounded. Crying. He dropped his gun to his side.

  And that was his mistake.

  “SHERIFF, GET BACK!” Jack shouted.

  But it was too late.

  The thing on the table lashed out once. A quick, clawed strike that tore Palmer’s throat to ribbons. Palmer clutched his neck as he bled out. His red jetted out and poured down onto what had been his brother.

  The brother-thing lapped at the falling liquid hungrily with an enormous maroon tongue. The tentacles and tendrils that lined its body shook and quivered. It seemed suddenly happy.

  Jack put a fist-sized hole in the monster’s head.

  He rushed to Palmer’s side to see if he could stem the bleeding.

  It was a useless gesture.

  Palmer gulped for air like a fish out of water. Confused tears welled in his eyes. And then his body lay still.

  Jack stood, unapologetic, focused, and angry. He hoisted his pack and ran past the nightmare surgery where Zloy had turned the sheriff’s brother into a beast.

  Into the mist he went, where he found the access tunnel Zloy had taken.

  “You aren’t getting away,” Jack commanded as he entered the black passage. “There is no way in hell that I’m letting you go.”

  “Catch me if you can, little gunmonkey!” Zloy tittered from somewhere up ahead.

  “No more jobs back in time,” Jack said to himself as he hurried down the tunnel.

  The passage was cramped
and slick with oil. Jack felt as though he was walking through an industrial factory in hell. His pack kept getting hung up, stuck on outcroppings of pipe and metal. Behind that metal was an ever-present blue glow. Alien machinery. Electricity that throbbed with malice. Once in a while, white steam burst into the passage, blocking the way. It was shockingly hot, and Jack was mindful not to cook himself.

  A second later, he hissed as he burned his cheek on an unseen pipe.

  “Hurt your pretty little face?” Zloy’s voice asked.

  Jack hated being mocked, but there was a bright side: Zloy had to be close if he could hear Jack’s pain.

  He hauled ass, ignoring the danger.

  “I’m push-ing some ve-ry bright but-tons,” Zloy shouted in a sing-song voice. “Pushing. Bright. Buttons. Getting my lovely escape pod ready. You might as well turn tail, gunslinger, because when I lift off, that area you’re in is going to be filled with fire!”

  Jack pricked up his ears and realized that he could actually hear Zloy pressing those goddamn buttons. Those pretty but-tons.

  So close now. Just a bit farther.

  The tunnel opened up into a great spherical room.

  It was clean, unlike the grimy factory floor, and looked like Hollywood’s idea of advanced technology. Shiny. Pristine. Chrome. There were consoles lined with lights and touch screens. In the center of the sphere was a small, missile-shaped pod. Above that, an iris aperture in the roof that was slowly opening.

  Around the pod, Zloy bounced and danced, pushing but-tons, preparing his escape.

  “Hello, gunslinger,” Zloy said as he took a second to bow. “Startup process is taking a teeny bit longer than I thought.” He nodded towards the escape pod with a look that said, Don’t you just hate it when that happens? You know what I mean. Escape pods, pfft, am I right?

  ”It’s over, Zloy,” Jack said. His hand hovered over the butt of his revolver. “Time’s up.”

  Zloy threw his head back in exasperation. “That was a terrible pun. Wretched, really. But … OK, fine, we can play that way.” He pulled back his gore-splattered lab coat, exposing a holster on his right leg. In it gleamed a weapon that looked like a sharp, pregnant six-shooter with fins. “A duel? A duel!” Zloy smirked. “Uncivilized, but fun. I’m willing if you are.”

  Jack nodded, coat back, hand still hovering over his machine.

  “The escape pod will vent excess gas – in the final stage of preparation – in thirty seconds. We draw then,” Zloy said.

  Jack nodded in agreement. He let his pack slide to the floor.

  He had no way of knowing if it would really be thirty seconds, but it didn’t matter. He was fast enough to put Zloy down even if the mad bastard managed to level his gun before Jack had removed his own from its holster. What worried Jack was Zloy’s weaponry. He recognized it as an Omni Systems RPZ-1888. And it fired Ripper Bullets. Those bastards were guided, and they tormented the target by talking to him (“Hello! I am a bullet, and I’m going to be entering your head momentarily. I just thought I’d let you know that I love my job!”) before drilling into the skin and exploding. When they exploded, they released small razor flechettes that flayed any living thing’s insides. They were bigger than regular bullets, and a bit slow because of the weight, but the psychological factor tended to make up for that.

  Jack loved using Rippers himself, but he was terrified of being their target.

  The two men stood spread-legged, facing each other.

  “Nice gun,” Jack said.

  “Thanks. Omni sure does make fine murder tools. Hell, the things give me a big old murder boner! What’ve you got? That a regular combustion revolver?”

  “Come on over and I’ll show you.”

  “Cheeky boy, you.” Zloy grinned as he waggled a finger at Jack.

  “Isn’t using guided bullets cheating?” Jack asked.

  Zloy shrugged. “It’s an unfair universe, friend. A cold, uncaring place. Still, all the more reason for you to show off that legendary speed. Better not even let me get to the trigger.” He grinned. “And you should probably make sure you go for a headshot, since I plan to be a complete prick and send the Rippers after you even if you hit me. No time for wounding! Better kill me!”

  The escape pod vented its gas five seconds early.

  Jack pulled and fired. He moved so fast that even Zloy missed the motion.

  The big .45 slug hit Zloy squarely between the eyes – and bounced off, tinking against the floor.

  “Ow!” Zloy shrieked. “I mean, really, ow! You are fast, though, I’ll give you that.”

  Jack sneered, feeling stupid that he hadn’t aimed for the eyes.

  He would have, then, in that second, if Zloy hadn’t raised the RPZ.

  Jack decided that his attention needed to be focused on potential Rippers headed for his person.

  Zloy rapped on his own head with his knuckles as if he were knocking on someone’s front door. “Metal implant. Made the alloy myself. Whole skull! Did a little self-improvement before working on the others. Speaking of which–” Zloy snapped his fingers.

  Seven mutated, screeching townspeople came galloping from the dark tunnel behind Jack like excited dogs running to dinner.

  Jack whirled around and crouched as he fanned the hammer of his machine. Five claps of thunder rang out, ending five former humans.

  The remaining two bore down on him, charging, howling.

  Jack reloaded, breaking open his machine with one hand and slamming the bullets into the cylinder with the other at unearthly speed. He fired at the first, removing its head. The thing slid to a halt at his feet, leaking.

  The final mutant leapt at him over the body of its fallen kin.

  Jack kicked it in the head mid-jump, before it could get its claws on him. His boot sent it flipping backwards, end over end. As it flew, he introduced a bullet to its brain. The monster landed with a wet thud and moved no more.

  The entire battle lasted only a moment.

  And then there were none, Jack thought grimly.

  Then he heard Zloy’s Ripper bullet as it hurtled toward him.

  “Howdy there, partner! Gonna kill kill keeelll you!” It squealed with delight.

  “Didn’t give them much of a chance did you?” Zloy said. “Talk about unfair! Turnabout is fair play.”

  Red flared in Jack’s brain, burning bright. He whirled around. He fired once, perfect as always, and shot Zloy’s tittering Ripper bullet out of the air. It burst with a small electrical pop, raining shrapnel on the ground.

  “Oh, come on!” Zloy shouted and stamped his foot once like a spoiled child. “You can’t do that, that‘s ridiculous.” He aimed and fired twice more, leaving three Rippers left in the RPZ.

  Jack considered firing on Zloy again, but he wanted to disarm the crazed surgeon first. Or, at least, ensure that no more Rippers would chase him. And given Zloy’s new bulletproof noggin, he couldn’t be sure that an eye shot would kill the bastard anyway.

  In an instant, he popped the two Ripper bullets squeaking greetings.

  “Wake up! It’s time to die!” chirped one.

  “Hi! Gimme that blooooood!” said the other, like a game show host.

  Jack devised a plan as their shattered remains fell.

  Zloy grunted in frustration. “You are annoyingly difficult to kill, gunslinger.”

  “I get that a lot,” Jack said.

  Zloy fired twice more.

  This time, instead of obliterating the Rippers, Jack ducked so that they whizzed over his head. He saw them, like flies, rapidly changing direction, careening back toward him. Learning what he needed to know, he destroyed the deadly missiles. The second one he destroyed cried out in a tiny, tinny voice as it popped: “Shiiiiiiit.”

  Jack stood. He let his empty gun drop to his side.

  Zloy smirked. “Looks like I’ve got one bang-bang left and you’ve got none. Sucks for you.” The psycho scientist fired. “Adios.”

  Jack ducked again, hitting the floor, hearin
g the Ripper pass over his head (“I am going to kill you so hard“). Then he was up and off like a human bullet.

  He ran straight at Zloy, who was not amused.

  He dropped the RPZ-1888 into the holster at his side and began clawing at the escape pod door. “Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go,” he screeched as he yanked at the metal portal that refused to open.

  Jack hit him hard, knocking the wind out of Zloy.

  The two grunted in unison as they slammed into the ground.

  Jack grabbed the still-reeling Zloy by his coat collar and pulled the scientist on top of him like a blanket.

  Or, more aptly, like a human shield.

  “Here I come! Here I come! Let’s get ready to dieeee!” howled the happy Ripper.

  Zloy struggled against Jack, but it was too late and Jack was too strong.

  Zloy’s eyes went wide as the Ripper entered the back of his neck.

  Jack heard a soft drilling bzzzt sound as the bullet worked its way into Zloy’s skin. The scientist went slack. The sound got thicker as the bullet hit muscle.

  The buzzing stopped.

  There was a heartbeat of silence.

  Then the Ripper squealed, “Weeeee!”

  There was a muffled pop as the bullet exploded and the flechettes began bouncing through Zloy’s body, slicing the villainous scientist’s internal organs into deli meat.

  Blood began to fall like rain, covering Jack.

  One razor-sharp piece of metal burst from the madman’s throat, flying out like a deadly dart. Right into Jack’s own neck.

  The gunslinger gasped as the metal cut into him, carving out a finger-sized trough.

  His jugular had been cut.

  Jack shoved the limp body of Zloy off. It thudded. He clutched his wound, trying to prevent the hot blood that was streaming out, in. He stood on shaky knees, then rushed over to his bag.

  If he didn’t stop the bleeding soon, he was a goner.

  Jack reached inside his pack and pulled out the medical foam pump he’d used on poor Sheriff Palmer earlier. He shoved the business end of the tube into his neck and watched as his own blood filled the length of plastic.

  He pressed the trigger.

  Freezing and yet burning, the foam filled the horrific gash after it pushed the blood back inside him. Jack gritted his teeth and let out a vicious growl, trying not to scream.