The Gunfighter and The Gear-Head

by Cassandra Duffy

  “Dirigibles…airships,” Gieo said, “although I would like to put together something faster moving eventually.”

  “And I would like to help you. Fiona also mentioned that you and I are of a like mind in what should be done with the Slark.” Veronica leaned forward a little, giving Gieo more than a passing glance at her cleavage. It was an obvious flirtatious move she’d seen Veronica work with Danny, but there was something undeniably attractive about the posture for whoever it was focused on. “Zeke isn’t forward thinking enough for the position of authority he has. I would like to see this township governed by a slightly more ambitious, decidedly female, figure. I would like to push the Slark out of Los Angeles. And, I would like an air force to do it. I was led to believe you might share some of these desires.”

  Gieo nearly choked on her tea at hearing almost exactly her plan mirrored in Veronica’s words. Something in the back of Gieo’s head screamed that it had to be too good to be true, to proceed with caution, but, gazing into Veronica’s shimmering hazel eyes, she wanted more than anything to believe.

  “How do you…I mean, do anything, hold Vegas? Take new places? Attack the Slark? Set up colonies?”

  Veronica laid her hand on Gieo’s knee and smiled, rolling her eyes as if there was such an obvious answer that the question could only have existed to prompt the response at the right time. “With an army, of course,” Veronica said. “The world was left with soldiers, hundreds of thousands of them, without any chain of command, any structure, or any paycheck. Soldiers are broken, tamed horses, in desperate need of organization and command; we give them what they crave and the pay they deserve. We have soldiers from as far away as Cuba, Canada, Mexico, and El Salvador fighting for the Lazy Ravens, although the primary backbone of our forces is still, and likely always will be, American.”

  “A few hundred?”

  Veronica shook her head. “The last numbers I saw put our force in the neighborhood of fifty thousand.”

  “How is that even possible? Just to feed and organize an army that big you would have to…”

  “…have a government? We do. Taxes, healthcare, regulations, elections, sanitation, water works, foreign affairs, everything you’d imagine a good government should do.” Veronica motioned over one of the women at the serving bar, who seemed to be waiting for the summons. The woman grabbed a rolled piece of paper around the size of a wall poster and walked it over to the table. “There are always the ridiculous types that were thrilled to see the government go, and we encourage them to exercise their ‘rugged individualism’ on whatever worthless piece of dirt they want to go die alone on, but the vast majority of people figured out very quickly that society was the only thing keeping them from a short, miserable life ending in a violent, often disease-riddled, death. These people, the pragmatists, the enlightened, are the ones we welcome, and they live much longer, happier lives as part of something greater. Humans are social creatures and we work best when we work together.” On the final two words of the speech, the woman with the rolled paper, unfurled what she carried to show Gieo a redrawn map of North America. Huge swaths of land in the North East, New York, Boston, Washington D.C., the Great Lakes, and surroundings areas were blacked out—lands purged of all life in the great cataclysm that had finally brought down the Slark’s technology, destroying nearly everything humanity had as well in the process. The south was redrawn in red as the Confederate States. The Midwest was carved into fragmented pieces, pulled together as the Omaha Pact. In the mountains, the western states, Nevada, Colorado, Utah, Idaho, parts of eastern Oregon and Washington, on up into Montana and Canada was labeled Raven territory. Texas and Old Mexico appeared to be under Mexican control, although in nothing as solid as a country. Arizona, New Mexico, and the surrounding deserts were all labeled Barrier City States. The entire west coast, with an epicenter in Los Angeles where Gieo always suspected the Slark’s mother ship had crashed, was labeled Slark territory.

  “This is North America as it stands now,” Veronica explained. “Mexico was once an ally to the Ravens, a partner to rely on, but they have fallen to disease, and look to be taken soon by the Slark if something isn’t done. The Omaha Pact feeds both us and the Confederate States—we are not friends with the Confederates. They are the patriarchy of old unified under the same rebel flag of Dixie from the Civil War. The only thing that remains to be seen is what the Barrier City States will choose.”

  Gieo could see the Raven’s interest in the Barrier City States. If the Slark did take Mexico, their capitol of Las Vegas would be nearly surrounded on three sides with only Tombstone and Tempe to watch its back. “I don’t understand…” Gieo lied. The world was recovering, well beyond what she’d expected, and her little dreams of flying airships against the teeth of the line felt frivolous in comparison to the nation building Veronica was proposing. Gieo suddenly felt like she was standing on the precipice dropping off into the sea or at the forefront of an uncharted world; everything was so much bigger and more frightening than she ever knew. Still, she didn’t want to let on that she knew Veronica’s true intentions. “What do you need from me?”

  “If what Fiona says is true, you could be the mother of the first air force in the new world,” Veronica said. “We need you, Gieo. Humanity needs you.”

  Chapter 14: Mistakes of identity.

  Veronica sent Gieo on her way with a sack containing at least as many coins as she’d given Fiona. In addition to the coins, Gieo was also given a list of things she might consider doing to ingratiate herself to the Lazy Ravens; most of the items involved making headway on finding pilots, building airships, and turning Tombstone’s opinion positive in regards to the Ravens.

  Gieo was so busy reading the list she almost didn’t notice Zeke storming his way up to the old courthouse. She managed to jump out of the way at the last moment. Zeke didn’t seem to recognize her in the saloon girl dress, glassing over her as just another one of the women lounging in front of the brothel. From the clenched fists at his sides and determined lean to his steps, Gieo could easily deduce he wasn’t there to take part in relaxation services. As frightening as Zeke normally was, Gieo assumed his manners would have to change in Veronica’s company if he wanted to walk back out.

  Stephanie, one of the younger girls with a shock of bright pink dyed hair dangling over her face, was to be Gieo’s escort back to the saloon on the off chance more cultists were on the lookout for the Asian she-devil. Why the cultists focused on her rather than the three dozen Lazy Ravens was beyond Gieo, and, quite frankly, seemed a little single-minded. Stephanie was a less interesting walking partner than Veronica, apparently more concerned with bitching about Tombstone than actual conversation. She linked arms with Gieo, but did so only out of a sense of duty, keeping her free hand on the Uzi dangling from the shoulder strap at her side. Gieo felt safe, knowing full well Stephanie wouldn’t have been chosen if she didn’t know how to use the compact machine gun, but Gieo quickly wished Veronica had personally walked her home, if only for the charm factor.

  The walk went without incident, and Stephanie took her leave with little more than a nod and an ‘it’s been fun.’ Dinner, for better or worse, actually smelled edible when Gieo walked in through the swinging doors. She began to wonder if Bond-O might be something of a savant or at least a quicker study than she’d given him credit. She poked her head inside the kitchen to find him busy at the great, black stove, throwing mountains of ingredients into a bubbling cauldron of stew. His immediate concern was stirring in the contents of an ancient bag of jelly beans. As odd as the pile of items next to the stew pot were, they all seemed to be more or less edible, so Gieo decided to let things alone.

  “Looking good, Bond-O,” she said.

  “Mitts have another knife-ccident,” Bond-O explained. “Told me to make stew alone. Bond-O was really sorry though.”

  “Maybe Mitch is just knife-ccident prone,” Gieo said with a smile. “When it’s ready, can you send up two bowls to Fiona’s room?”
>
  “Bond-Go!” he exclaimed with a thumbs up on his three-fingered hand.

  Gieo checked Fiona’s room only to find the gunfighter not at home. She’d passed her car on the way in, which meant she hadn’t gone hunting. Gieo headed to the roof to see if Ramen had seen her, but instead found Fiona at the edge of the roof, beneath the patio umbrella, watching the video feed from the cultist compound. Fiona looked concerned by something. Her gun hand rested on the side of her holster, idly tapping her fingers against the leather in a nervous tic she didn’t appear to be aware of.

  “Is everything okay?” Gieo asked.

  Fiona snapped her head around. Her hand went from tapping to gripping the gun’s handle. She relaxed when she saw Gieo. “No,” Fiona said through clenched teeth. “The cultists are arming themselves.”

  “With what? Sharp points on their canes?”

  “Guns and Molotov cocktails.”

  Gieo jogged across the roof to get a better look at what Fiona was talking about. Sure enough, in low-definition black and white, there the cultists were, stockpiling assault rifles and pistols alongside bottles with rags dangling from their tops. As far as nonsensical, insane methanol drinking behavior went, this had to take the cake.

  “The last thing this town needs is a couple hundred, half-blind lunatics spraying bullets and hurling firebombs,” Gieo muttered.

  “I tried to get a hold of Zeke to give him a heads up, but Rawlins said he was out.”

  “I saw him going into the Raven Nest,” Gieo said. “He looked angry.”

  “Maybe he already knows.”

  “It looked more like an anger meant for Veronica than a general displeasure with the world at large.”

  Fiona tore her attention away from the screen where she’d been cataloguing weapon numbers, types, and location. She glanced up to find Gieo leaning forward, one hand on the arm of the lawn chair and the other across the back. The tight-fitting top of her dress had pushed her modest breasts up into a few fingers worth of cleavage. Fiona decided she was more of a quality than quantity type when it came to breasts; Gieo might not have much, but what she did have was pure perfection.

  Gieo caught on the gunfighter’s adjusted gaze and leaned forward even further. “Do you think they might be hiding some guns in there too?” she said with a wry smirk.

  “If you’re going to lean over with those things in my face, you can’t get irritated when I look at them,” Fiona grumbled.

  “Who’s irritated?” Gieo laughed. “Look, touch, lick, fondle, whatever. The collar I’m wearing might be for show, but I thought I was pretty clear in letting you know I was fine with it meaning possession for real. You’re the only one holding you back as of late.”

  “What if I said I was done holding back?”

  “I would say it was about damn time.”

  Fiona grabbed Gieo around the waist, spun her once, and landed Gieo across her lap. Gieo giggled in spite of herself, and draped her arms over Fiona’s shoulders when she came to rest comfortably on the gunfighter’s lap. Fiona leaned up and kissed Gieo with an urgent sweetness when Gieo expected rougher treatment. The softness of the kiss, the warmth of the embrace, and natural feeling of sitting on Fiona’s lap all combined to melt every nerve in Gieo’s body. There were no affectations with Fiona; she was what she was—Gieo really started to like that about her. Fiona’s attention left the kiss. Her lips followed, making their way down Gieo’s neck, kissing along her exposed collar bones, and finally leaning her back a little to kiss across the top of her modest cleavage. Gieo’s skin burned under the kisses; the heat of desire only spread with Fiona’s hot breath, pushing the wildfire throughout Gieo’s body. She wanted Fiona to have her, right then, right there on the roof, and she couldn’t be bothered to care if anyone saw or heard what they were doing.

  “Horses, boss!” Ramen came roaring across the top of the roof, his twin propellers kicking up the dust that had collected on the scant remaining inventory.

  “Mother fucker!” Gieo shouted in frustration. “I’m already working on getting you a puppy—there’s no way you’re getting a horse until I see how well you do with a dog.”

  “Not for me, boss,” Ramen said, completely unfazed by the cursing or angry tone to Gieo’s voice. “Horses are getting unloaded from the train.”

  Fiona responded this time. She lifted Gieo off her lap, leapt from the lawn chair, and scooped up the telescope. She ran to the far edge of the roof and looked east toward the rail station. Not only was there another train only days after the first, it was a different train, and it was indeed unloading horses along with another two dozen Lazy Raven ladies. They looked to only be about halfway through a very lengthy process that might stretch on for several hours more.

  “I think we know why Zeke was so angry,” Fiona said. “The Ravens just broke his monopoly on transportation.”

  Following the horses turned out to be superficially a simple task. This completely shattered when they were strung together, mounted, and the whole lot rode off with a couple of wagons hauling the tack and hay behind. Keeping up on foot would be a difficult prospect and driving would be over obvious as Fiona was fairly certain the trail her car left could be seen from space. The horses would have to be tracked after dark with the help of Ramen.

  Back in the saloon, they found two dozen agitated hunters with Danny as their spokesman. If there were a good half of the cantankerous lot, they were the ones. Something felt off to Fiona, but not in the terms of a lynch mob. Danny came away from the group with twenty-five sets of eyes following him.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Danny said.

  “More than a few if you’ve been paying attention,” Fiona replied. “What do you have to add to the pot?”

  “Zeke came out of the Raven Nest beat to shit,” Danny said. “I don’t know why he went in there and I don’t know why things turned south, but they took their time teaching him a lesson he wasn’t eager to learn.”

  “Shit,” Fiona muttered.

  “Normally, he’d have the hunters over there to take care of business, but he doesn’t have the clout he once did, and getting jack-rolled by a bunch of prostitutes doesn’t help his case much,” Danny said. One of the other men, Fiona couldn’t remember his name, but she assumed Gieo knew it, came over and nudged Danny in the arm. “Me and the boys, we’ve been talking. We’re thinking this new progress is getting hobbled by Zeke’s greed. We’re thinking maybe you ought to take over as mayor.”

  “Zeke is a dangerous, wounded animal right now,” Fiona said. “He’s not going to be predictable or rational again anytime soon, especially not if Rawlins saw you all come in here, and there’s no doubt he did.”

  “There’s another problem,” Gieo said.

  “The cultists…” Fiona began.

  “No, not that, well, yes, that, but also fuel prices,” Gieo said. “Zeke’s fucking you all over with the new system. It takes a little fractional math to figure it out, he picked difficult numbers to cross multiply without a calculator on purpose, but it works out to a pretty big hike—I don’t think he counted on anyone figuring out until it was too late.”

  This news, more than anything else Gieo could have said, set a fire under the gathered men; if they weren’t Fiona’s men before, they certainly were then. There were a few comments about Zeke’s reign needing to end, that he’d held the keys to the pumps for too long, and a few less constructive comments about Zeke’s personal habits and appearance.

  “There’s also a problem brewing with the Hawkins House,” Fiona said to quiet the men. “They’re arming for something big. I don’t know where they got the guns and bombs, but they’re better armed than us and have a ten to one numbers advantage.”

  “The trump card Zeke mentioned,” Danny said. “Yahweh must have found the old counterinsurgency supply cache.”

  “Aside from being mostly blind, the man’s from Texas; how would he know enough about Tombstone to figure that out?” Fiona asked.

  “I believe I
can answer that for you.” Veronica strolled through the door with a file folder held above her head. “I was digging through some old records in the courthouse and found out something interesting about our good friend Zeke. It would seem he was born a bastard with a father only added to the records a week later.”