Bodacious Creed: a Steampunk Zombie Western (The Adventures of Bodacious Creed Book 1)

by Jonathan Fesmire

  Dizzy with the ache in his balls, Hartgraul stood, forced her to her back, and climbed atop her. He pinned her arms, but she kept kicking, her knees bumping his back.

  Time for retribution. He pummeled her face until blood flew from her nose and lips. Her initial screams turned to pained moans. Let Nancy see this bit of work.

  Something grabbed his coat and all too quickly he hung in the air, feet and bloody hands dangling, as though the Almighty had lifted him. If so, he intended to reach around and punch Jesus, or God, or whoever the fuck dared interrupt him.

  Just as Hartgraul reached over his shoulder, he hit the earth. He shouted with the sharp pain to his legs and back. The stranger lifted him again, hands under Hartgraul’s arms, and heaved the pimp of Plowshares. Hartgraul flew at least thirty feet, smashed into the far brick wall, and landed face first.

  He thought his attacker couldn’t be a man. A spirit had come to punish him for his sins. All the anger fled and only fear remained. As Hartgraul shook, boots clapped the earth behind him. One of those strong hands grabbed his arm and forced him to roll over.

  The stranger wore a long duster and wide hat. Hartgraul couldn't make out the face, but the man held a long pistol, the muzzle pointed at the big daddy’s forehead.

  “What are you? A man? A demon?” Hartgraul blubbered.

  The stranger stood perfectly still, the sea breeze blowing through the alley and across his coattails, streetlight framing his head like a nearly forgotten halo. Then, in a raspy voice, he intoned one word.

  “Creed.”

  He fired.

  As Hartgraul battered her face, numbness filled Charlotte’s cheeks. Her mind refused to register any more pain. She thought that all would end, that this madman would pound her into oblivion. Her squabble with Karla seemed pointless, leaving The House of Amber Doves her final mistake.

  In an instant, the punches stopped and the pressure left her body. First, Charlotte thought she had died. Then, through eyes swelled to squinting, she saw Hartgraul dangling over her. He fell to one side before floating again. Finally, he flew past with a scream.

  She and Hartgraul had one thought in common during the encounter, that the stranger could not be human. As the newcomer stood over her, Charlotte saw him as an angel. Though he wore dark clothes and had no wings, unless one counted the tails of his coat, she felt certain he had descended from Heaven.

  Even when he knelt beside her and she saw his face, the wound across his cheek, his impossible metal eyes, Charlotte felt no more fear. She heard nothing through the ringing in her ears, but his pale lips said, “Wait here.”

  He swept past and Charlotte forced herself up. Propped on one arm, face pounding, she spat a mouthful of blood and watched the angel approach Hartgraul. He, or it, turned the man over as one might a grain sack.

  She flinched as the gun fired.

  The angel lifted Hartgraul and draped him over his shoulder. When he returned to her, Charlotte asked, “Is he dead?” Her savior simply offered her his hand. She took it and pulled herself to standing. When he left the alley, she followed.

  Charlotte stayed about fifteen feet behind him for a block with the impression of floating just outside her body. Throbbing pain, excitement, and the stranger's sudden appearance had combined into a surreal experience. A dream? She doubted it, as the pain felt too intense. Just in case, she shook her head to wake up, something that often worked for her during nightmares. The man turned on Laurel Street with Hartgraul held like a sack of flour. Of course, her entire life had turned surreal since the centennial. James Creed had died, and Anna had all but vanished from her life.

  Charlotte stopped cold and stared at the stranger. She had never taken much interest in the legendary lawman, James Creed, so she had scarcely glanced at his pictures in the newspapers. Yet he had died, and now this angel appeared. Ridiculous, she knew as she caught up to him. More ridiculous than an angel?

  Had James Creed become a spirit of justice? If so, why the metal eyes? Still, she felt in her gut it had to be him. This apparition could scarcely be called James. Such a common, simple name! This was no man, but the incarnation of a legend.

  Before her walked Bodacious Creed.

  A block farther along, they stood at the corner of Laurel and Center. Creed gazed to the right, toward the site of the new U.S. marshal post. Charlotte figured his mind had to be on the former building, the place where he had died.

  His black bandana puffed with breath, though if that proved he was alive, Charlotte couldn't say. Three days ago, men had begun construction, and the new building would be larger. The foundation and framing stood in place, complete with bars for the cells, and about half of the walls had gone up. After a few more days, she figured, the new post would be complete, and new federal marshals would take over.

  Charlotte had gone by the site a few times since the attack, where black ash dusted the road and blood stains from the murders remained. She thought that now, he might approach and examine the area, but he turned left instead.

  “Are you taking him to Marshal Bateman?” Charlotte’s voice struck her as muffled. “Is he even alive?” She squinted at a figure standing just outside the local post.

  They walked the rest of the way and about a dozen yards from the stairs, Creed knelt and dropped Hartgraul. He stood again, almost as precisely as a steely, and turned to Charlotte. “Tell the local marshal what happened.”

  She stepped past him and stared at her employer's body. Former employer. Whether alive or dead, she would never work for Hartgraul again.

  “You there, stop!” called the figure from the post.

  “Can't you talk to them?” Charlotte turned to find Creed gone. She began to think he was something otherworldly after all. Raising her hands, Charlotte turned back to the man at the post and recognized Lonzo Rivera.

  The deputy approached her and holstered his gun. “Miss Charlotte?”

  At that Charlotte’s sobs came. She leaned her face against his chest. He put his arms around her, but she pushed herself away. In the lamplight, her tears and blood showed on his shirt. She pointed at Hartgraul, and Lonzo knelt.

  “Is he alive?” she asked.

  “He is, and I think in a better state than you. C'mon. Let's get you into the office.”

  Inside, Lonzo opened a cell door so that Charlotte could lie down, and a minute later he and Bateman carried Hartgraul by the arms and legs and locked him in another cell. Lonzo then tended to her wounds with whiskey, letting her drink nearly five jiggers’ worth as he cleaned the cuts on her face. He helped her remove her corset, then felt her shoulders and chest while asking where it hurt.

  “I don’t think anything’s broken. Did he punch you in the belly?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  Wanting to be away from Hartgraul, she went to the office and sat by the front window, bodice in her lap. Charlotte cried quietly while Bateman questioned her and Lonzo took notes. After they had the story, they let her stay there, gazing at the stars.

  Soon, Charlotte heard a familiar sound outside, the clanking of a steely, when into view came the automaton and a woman.

  “What's she doing?” Charlotte whispered.

  Anna Boyd rode by at a trot on her skeletal-striped horse with Lucky jogging just behind. After the terrible day and night, Charlotte took this as a sign. In the morning, she would head to The House of Amber Doves and, if she had to, beg for them to take her back.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  At the mouth of the alley, Anna dismounted Espiritu. She had heard the gunshot about five minutes prior from Railroad Flats. “Wait,” she said, patting Espiritu’s flank. The horse whinnied in response. She followed Lucky, the faint light of the crescent moon glinting off its polished hickory and steel. Her steely knelt at the far side of the alley and turned to her with something held between its thumb and forefinger.

  A round plate in the steely’s forehead pulled aside and from it, a light shined on the item. It was a spent bullet, head flattened
in the dirt. Anna took it and turned it over in her fingers. “Illuminate the alley.”

  Lucky stood to the side and the light from the mechanical torch in its head intensified, shining a bright beam across the ground. In one area, Anna found dark spots, possibly blood. She hoped for a scrap of cloth, or perhaps a lost item, but found nothing else. Still, it seemed there had been a fight before the gunshot.

  With Plowshares less than a block away and an opium den nearby, she didn’t like this section of Chestnut Street. She pocketed the bullet and left the alley, commanding Lucky to turn off its beacon and follow. The street remained quiet. If anyone had come out to investigate the shot, they had left quickly.

  Across the street, she noticed someone looking out a second-story window. When she glanced up she thought she saw the round face of a child, but the curtain shut immediately. Might someone there have seen what happened?

  Anna crossed the road holding Espiritu’s reins. The top floor belonged to a tailor’s shop. Leaving Lucky with Espiritu a good ten feet back, Anna knocked on the door. No one answered.

  “I'm sorry to bother you. Could I talk to one of your parents? It's important.” She hoped the child had gone to the door and she waited nearly a minute before knocking again. At this late hour, she thought it might be better to leave. As she stepped off the porch, she heard whispering behind the door, then it opened.

  A blonde woman, perhaps in her mid-thirties, stood there.

  Anna stood with one foot on the ground, one on the porch. “I’m so sorry to bother you. There was a gunshot just now. Did you happen to—Melinda?” Anna’s smile came freely. The woman’s pretty, oval face with its soft cheeks was unmistakable.

  “Anna? What are you doing out here?” The smell of warm bread came from the home, probably cooked upstairs hours before.

  “I’m looking for someone who went missing,” Anna said. “I think the gunfire might be connected.”

  “One of the girls? No need to say more. I saw her and a man head that way.” Melinda pointed up the street.

  Anna put her hand to her chest in mild relief. “Thank you.” As she started to step away, a question struck her, and she turned. “How'd you end up here, Melinda?”

  “I got lucky.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I left Amber Doves a few months after you did. It was Margarita, you know. Horrible woman. I went to work for Hartgraul.”

  “Oh no!” Anna said. “I had no idea!”

  “His wife kicked my son and me out some months later. We lived in barns for a while, until Clarence took us in. We're married now.” With a fleeting grin, she flashed a silver ring.

  Anna looked down the street toward Plowshares. “As bad as Fullerton could be, they're much worse.”

  “I didn't know at the time.”

  “I have to go,” Anna said. “Thank you again.”

  As she rode Espiritu at a trot along Chestnut, she regretted not owning a hound steely, or an actual hound, something that might be able to track Creed. She saw nothing useful, so she rode around the nearby blocks. At last, she came to Bateman’s post and stopped outside. For a moment, she had the crazy idea to go in and talk to him. What would she say? That she had brought James Creed back to life and he had run off?

  Anna leaned forward against Espiritu's mane for a moment then trotted on. She and Lucky searched until morning, covering most of the small city, even venturing into some of the forested areas. At last, just after dawn, Anna stabled Espiritu and trudged back to the bordello.

  Upset, tense, and worried, Anna still sighed with relief when Jonny strode through the saloon toward her. A few customers sat eating breakfast and looked her over curiously while the smells of eggs and bacon came from the kitchen. Rosie and Susannah, two doves who often worked early in the morning, tended bar.

  Lucky went back to its spot by the stairs, and Jonny took Anna’s hand. Once in their bedroom, she locked the door, poured her and Jonny each a glass of scotch, downed hers, and lay down in bed.

  “I think someone saw him,” Anna said. “But I couldn’t find him. What are we going to do?”

  Jonny kissed her on the lips, furrowed his brow, and left. She understood. He would look, too. Anna downed two more jiggers before she dropped into sleep.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Anna thought she had never heard the saloon so busy before. The chatter of loud, high voices had woken her, and she lay in bed wondering what had encouraged the commotion. The clock ticking above the bed revealed the time as three in the afternoon. She had managed to sleep for about seven hours straight.

  Then Anna remembered her search for Creed the night before and her body tensed. Could the ruckus in the saloon have anything to do him?

  Anna felt torn between going to the saloon and bathing. One look in her vanity mirror, and a glance down at the rest of her, and she decided. After the drinks, she hadn't even bothered to strip. Dirt covered her boots and the bell of her dress, and her frazzled hair looked as far from professional as could be. In the bathroom, she pumped, stripped, and hurriedly washed in the bathtub. At last, she dried her hair briskly with a towel, threw on a scarlet and black dress, and forced a smile as she stepped out the door.

  Immediately, Lorraine rushed up to her. “You're awake! You have no idea what's been happening, do you?”

  “No, but I heard the noise.” Anna strode to the end of the hallway and found the saloon filled with men and women, all chatting and drinking. Several of the doves who did not generally help with serving food carried meals to full tables.

  Anna studied the faces of various customers. Some seemed jovial, while others smiled fleetingly. Did she see uncertainty in their faces?

  “Maybe I should let Charlotte tell you.” Lorraine turned. “Charlotte? Hey there.”

  As presumptuous and energetic as ever, Lorraine took Anna's hand and led her to the bar. Few patrons spared them a glance.

  “Oh my, Charlotte!” Anna stood by her former employee and took her hand. “What happened to you? Who did this?”

  Purple bruises, edges fading to mustard yellow, covered Charlotte's cheeks. One eye was swollen half-closed, and scabs formed where the skin had broken. Charlotte wore a short, frilly dress and a tight corset, with matching pink boots and black stockings, as though wanting to make herself prettier. The young woman glanced at Anna and swallowed. “I shouldn't have gone.”

  “But where did you go?”

  “Hartgraul did this.”

  Anna could have reprimanded Charlotte for going to Plowshares and told her she should have known better. That wouldn't have helped. Hadn’t Melinda made the same mistake years ago? Anna ran her hand along Charlotte's arm. “You need to go back to your room to get some rest.”

  “You still have my room?”

  “I haven't hired anyone else in a day.”

  “Of course. Thank you.” Charlotte threw her arms around Anna and held tightly enough that Anna had trouble taking another breath.

  “Ain't you gonna tell her?” Lorraine asked.

  Anna said into Charlotte's ear, “Tell me what?”

  Charlotte sat on a stool while Lorraine bit her lower lip and tapped her foot excitedly. She pushed her straight black hair over one ear, gazing at Charlotte. Clearly filled with excitement, Lorraine exclaimed, “Bodacious Creed is alive!”

  For Anna, the voices faded to silence. Her heart fairly pounded against her bodice. Lorrain, bouncing on her heels, appeared to slow as though in water.

  “Did you hear me?” Lorraine asked, and time snapped back.

  “Yes,” said Anna. “Is that why everyone's here?”

  “They all came to talk about it. There are lots of rumors, but too many people saw something for it to not be real. Especially Charlotte.”

  “You want to let me tell the story now, Lorraine?” Charlotte asked.

  Lonzo Rivera came through the bar and took Lorraine's hand. Anna saw that he had slipped a token into it, and the two rushed for the stairs, bumping into
several people on the way.

  “He helped me last night.” Charlotte edged closer to Anna. “Lonzo did when I went to Bateman’s post. I hope Lorraine gives him a good long screw. He deserves it.”

  Charlotte told her how she had left due to arguments with Karla and had ended up at Plowshares. Anna listened most attentively when Charlotte talked about Creed saving her in the alley.

  “Do you know where he went after that? Did he say?” Anna asked.

  “At the marshals’ post, he just vanished.”

  Anna sent Charlotte to her room and told her to take as long as she needed to heal. Her meals and boarding would all be covered. Anna only regretted not being able to use an ether healer on Charlotte without giving her secrets away.

  For the next hour, Anna overheard stories about Creed sightings. One second-hand rumor placed Creed at Cooper Brothers Mercantile. Apparently, John Cooper himself had helped him with clothes and guns. Other tales had Creed running after a runaway horse, leaping onto its back, and riding it to its owner, and terrifying a small group of boys beating a dog. According to that one, Creed simply revealed his face to them and they all fled. How many of the stories were true?

  Several customers talked about Creed's metal eyes. Others claimed he ran faster than a horse and that he had thrown a man fifty feet off the wharf, into the ocean. Those seemed far-fetched. Could he have become so quick and strong?

  Eventually, she rushed back to her room and locked the door behind her. She descended into the laboratory where Jonny was giving Zero, now repaired, commands by flipping switches hidden under its breast plate.

  “We've got to find him,” Anna said, half breathless. “I don't know how to do it.”

  Jonny raised a finger, then retrieved a bound book he and Anna used for schematics. He flipped through the pages, stopped, and handed it to her.

  Anna looked at it, recalling the design from several months before when Jonny had started work on a way to track individual steelies.