Thwack! It hit Joe squarely in the jaw with inhuman strength, and its barbs bit into him. Staggering backward, Joe fell to the ground and the cactus prepared to finish him off.
Lilly called out for the men who were hiding to finish it off, to draw its attention off Joe. A bluff, of course. Everyone Joe asked was busy. Joe and Lilly were out there by themselves.
Gathering her petticoats up to her waist Lilly sprinted as fast as she could while wearing heels - right alongside a ten-foot pit dug into the trail covered with brush and then covered again with more dirt from the pit. If it fell in, it might not get out.
The cactus fell. Lilly cheered.
Seconds later, she groaned when the giant cactus scaled the sides of the pit using its roots and thick, green legs. Its six arms flexed in frustration. Seconds later it stood at its full height on the other side. No gunshots had been forthcoming from the brush.
She, he and it were all alone, and the thing knew it. The cactus had no face. She couldn't help but sense the evil nature emanating from it as she backed up on the trail. Maybe it saw them as a bat sees its prey.
“Over here,” Joe called.
The cactus didn't have to turn in order to turn its attention to Joe. Joe lit a rag stuffed into a whiskey bottle filled with corn alcohol. He'd hid them along the trail.
The killer cactus had enough wherewithal to dodge and Joe missed. Fire and fuel splashed across the other non-moving plants; they flared up instantly, flames licking toward the night sky. The flickering light illuminated the fear and anger of the monster, Joe and Lilly.
“Over here, you inhuman bastard!” Joe said.
No! It said wordlessly. It turned to Lilly and she backed up, falling on her heels, petticoats, and even some stones in the trail. The plant sprung.
No point in throwing his knife. It wasn't a throwing knife and even if it was, it might not have worked. He had his six-gun, however, and he put six slugs into its spiny, green back--with no effect. The kerosene had been the best chance to stop it and the effort had failed miserably. He didn't have another bottle of kerosene hidden anywhere near here.
We can't stop it! Joe thought.
Joe sprinted toward the cactus, knife reared back. “She's not any trouble to you. Leave her alone!”
Joe had expected the cactus to concentrate on fighting him. It seemed intent on killing Lilly.
Joe wasn't going to slash and stab this time. He'd hit. Slamming into the cactus low, its barbs stuck deep in his shoulder. He plowed it over like a lumberjack knocking over a tree.
Summoned by the flames and commotion, onlookers gathered. They closed around the struggling, hate-filled cactus. Some gasped in amazement at seeing a cactus move like a man but more hit it with hoes, rakes, shovels and picks.
The cactus tried to bend to raise itself up. People wouldn't let it. They whacked away at it like a piñata.
“Look at that freaky thing, would you?” someone said. “We should put that spawn of Satan in jail.”
“Hell with that! It killed four people!” another answered.
“Doesn't it need a trial?”
If that was a joke, nobody laughed.
Pain from his many little wounds forced Joe to stop and watch, as the growing crowd of citizens destroyed his inhuman nemesis. He looked Lilly over, to see how she was.
Her own blood soaked her dress down to the crinoline. The monster hit her repeatedly.
“Doc!” Joe cried. “Doc! Lilly's been hit.”
Doc wasn't there. Lilly couldn't wait for him and so she died in his arms but not before she whispered, “I love you Joe. Tell Chip his mommy loves him, too.”
They had the funeral for Lilly, Chick and Arlo two days later. Jesse Weirdunkal made sure Millie had her own funeral.
Everybody told Joe and Chip how sorry they were Lilly died and offered to do whatever they could for her young son. Joe didn't know where the boy's real father was but figured that since it was he who loved Lilly and she who loved him, he'd go ahead and take Chip.
Marshal Charlie Malone finally showed up.
“Guess you heard we killed that creature,” Joe said evenly.
“Sorry I wasn't here sooner, Joe,” Charlie said, smiling. “No hard feelings? Awful sorry you had to face all that trouble by yourself. They're right. You are one brave man. You're a hero,” Charlie said, clapping him on the back, like a politician angling for a vote.
“Oh, I'm not the only brave person. I had help all right, from a woman,” Joe said.
Charlie looked at the ground.
“Damn you! A writer from your local paper beat you out here. How do you explain that? A waitress with a young son has more guts than the marshal!”
Joe slugged the man in his smiling face as he sensed an excuse brewing. He then ripped the tin star off of his shirt and threw it in the marshal's face.
“Keep it!”
It didn't occur to Joe to worry about what Charlie, or anyone else might do. They didn't have any guts.
He took Chip by the arm and hustled him away. “I'll get sick if I stand here much longer.”
James Cobb's science-fiction westerns have appeared in Science Fiction Trails and other places. He's an amateur historian, emergency nurse and a medic instructor in the Army Reserve.
The idea for "The Murders Over In Weirdunkal" came to him one night when a man came into his emergency department claiming a cactus attacked him.
Grumpy Gaines, Texas Ranger
by
David B. Riley
Grumpy tugged one last tug, then held the rope out at arm’s length so he could admire his craftsmanship in the flickering glow of the campfire. There it was, a perfect hangman’s noose–his best ever. Now, where to string it? The old oak tree just outside the abandoned mission got his vote. One of its branches hung way out over a cliff. That would be just about perfect.
He was not alone. “I’m not deaf, you know. I can hear you.”
A woman moved from the shadows, to just within the edge of the boundary of the fire’s glow. She was beautiful. More than that. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. A moment later, two more ladies moved into the light. The first one, now in the middle, had raven black hair and piercing green eyes. The other two ladies were both redheads. Each of them were about the prettiest things he’d ever seen. The one in the middle grinned at him. Her mouth was not normal. Her incisors were quite long, almost like fangs.
He picked up his weatherbeaten hat and slammed it into the ground. “Not more blasted vampires.”
“Relax, it’ll all be over sooner than you think,” the raven-haired vampire told him.
“Lady, you got that right.” He drew his trusty Smith & Wesson from its holster.
“Your bullets will not work on us,” she informed him.
“Dang nabbit, you think I don’t know that? The gun ain’t for you.” He stuck the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger. The firing hammer clicked. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. “Dang nabbit, I’m sick of all this rain!”
She laughed. “Perhaps you shouldn’t reload your own ammunition?”
“You know what Texas Rangers get paid, lady?” He put the gun back in the holster.
“It’s supper time,” she said as she licked her lips.
“Just one thing, lady.” He had the lasso around her before she knew what was going on–even before her vampire reflexes could save her. As he tightened the lasso with his right hand, he landed the just made hangman’s noose with his left. “In Texas, we know how to use rope before we know how to walk.” He threw the rest of the rope that was attached to the noose over the branch of the big oak tree and pulled with all his strength.
“That won’t kill me,” she sort of gurgled, the lack of air making it hard to talk as the noose tightened around her neck.
“I know that.” He tied her off to a nearby stump. Then, he glared at the two redheads and waved a third coiled rope. “You want some of what I gave her!”
They ran away into the darkness.
/>
“Funny thing about vampires, at least the women. There’s usually a dominant one and the rest are timid as hell,” he said.
“I’m still alive,” she gurgled, the rope around her neck ever tightening.
He pointed to the hills on the other side of the valley. “The storm’s cleared off.” The first rays of morning sunshine were now jutting over the horizon. “I don’t have to kill ya, just keep ya hanging there a few minutes more.”
“Let me go!” she pleaded as her skin began to smoke and blister.
“Not a chance, lady.”
He rode back into Lubbock and put his horse in the little hacienda. He coaxed his tired saddle soar body inside and collapsed into his favorite chair.
“Is that you?” Henrietta screeched from the kitchen.
“Who the hell else would it be?” Grumpy snapped back.
“You’re three days late,” she informed him. “You were supposed to be here Tuesday.”
“I’m too tired to care, woman,” Grumpy said.
“I’m fixing your favorite soup,” she said, softening the tone of her voice a little.
“Tomato? I get tomato soup?” He never got tomato soup.
“Tortilla,” she corrected
“That ain’t my favorite,” Grumpy protested. “I don’t even like it.
“I lied.” His housekeeper emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray. She placed a bowl of soup in front of him, along with a plate of steaming hot flour tortillas. “You could use a bath. And you look a hundred years old with that awful beard.”
He tasted his soup. “After I eat this, I’m going where they don’t care how bad I smell or how old I look.”
“They’re welcome to you,” she said.
Grumpy opened the gate. Gretchen was on him in seconds. She knocked him over, then stood on his chest and licked his face. The rest of the girls tried to get a lick in, but had trouble getting past her.
As usual, Gretchen had his gun belt off of him in seconds. Grumpy wondered how she always managed to do that. She loved to run around with his gun belt. He wasn’t so keen on teeth marks in the leather and grabbed it back from her before she could do any real damage.
It wasn’t long before he had the girls all hooked up and they were rolling out of the pen. Eight Alaskan sled dogs charging out into the night air. It was still too hot for them, but better than during the daytime. And this sled had wheels, not runners. Lead dog Gretchen didn’t seem to care. They were out of the pen and running and that was all that mattered.
Grumpy loved these dogs. It had been two years since the ship they were in sank off the coast of Corpus Christi. No one wanted them. Their owner was dead, so Grumpy took them home with him. Everyone said they were wrong for Texas. None of that mattered as Gretchen pulled her team along the trail. It was a clear starlight night with a half moon in the sky–visibility was pretty good.
One of their regular routes took them through a small valley. The trail went alongside a stream, then through an abandoned monastery. On this night, the monastery didn’t seem very abandoned. The buildings were lit up and people were moving about. Grumpy had lived in this area his whole life. The monastery had been abandoned since before Texas was Texas. This wasn’t right. “Whoa up!” he yelled to Gretchen.
His lead dog didn’t seem happy to stop, but she did. Grumpy set the brake on the sled and moved closer to the monastery. There were men dressed as monks unloading equipment–at least they had black robes on. Then, he noticed they were unloading more than equipment from a large wagon. They were unloading the two vampire women he’d encountered earlier. They were in a cage.
“May I help you?” some guy in a black robe asked.
“What’s going on here?” Grumpy asked.
“This is private property. You best leave.”
“Actually,” Grumpy pointed at the badge pinned to his shirt, “I’m a Texas ranger, this is public land and it is my business when you’re caging people.”
“Those ain’t people,” the fellow in the black robe replied. He was holding something metallic in his hand.
Grumpy went for his gun, but he wasn’t fast enough. Metal barbs shot into his chest. His feet went out from under him and he had no motor control of his body. Then someone hit him in the head.
He woke up in a cage. He was lying on the floor. His gun was gone. The vampire women were in a cage right next to his. “Ladies.”
“You killed Rachel,” one of them said.
“The sunlight killed her, as best I recall,” Grumpy replied.
“We’re alchemists,” the guy in the black robe said.
“I thought that went out a few hundred years ago,” Grumpy replied.
“No. We’re still around.”
“Still around wasting people’s time,” Grumpy said.
“Listen ranger, no one invited you here.” He looked at the two women. Research has discovered some unique properties about the heart of a vampire.” He went over to his associates. They had a device that seemed part fire pit and part steam kettle. They were pouring quite a bit of coal into it. The room was getting rather warm.
Grumpy looked up at the sagging old ceiling. It had been a long time since monks sang vespers in this place. “They’ll burn this place down on top of us, dang fools,” Grumpy said to the ladies in the cage next to him. It seemed odd that he felt like he had more in common with the vampires than the alchemists.
The alchemists stirred and scraped and tossed something with a sulfur odor into their contraption. The head honcho came over to the cages. He had the metal device in his hand. “This is the great equalizer. Outside the cage, these coy, beautiful women could rip me to shreds. But they operate on human neurology. This device, we call a Taser, makes it impossible for the brain to communicate with the arms and legs–at least for a few minutes. He fired his device. One of the women started convulsing, then stopped moving altogether. “They may use these in law enforcement, someday.”
“I’ll stick to my Colt,” Grumpy said. “Why Taser?”
“It’s my family name.” The alchemist fired again, immobilizing the second vampire lady. “It’s time.” He unlocked the cage. Two of his associates came over to help and they dragged the women over to the contraption. He took a large knife, cut open the women and removed their hearts. “Predator becomes prey.” Then he started chopping the hearts into small pieces. “Lead to gold.” He sealed the lid. “Lead to gold in just one hour.” He turned a knob and Grumpy could see the heat waves radiating from the contraption.
The roof suddenly and completely collapsed. The cage proved quite sturdy and actually shielded Grumpy from the impact. He thought he’d never stop coughing from all the dust it stirred up, but he finally did.
And there he sat in his cage. There were openings in the rubble. He figured he might be able to crawl out, if he could just get out of the cage. Then he heard panting. Gretchen came up to the bars. She had his gun belt in her mouth and playfully jerked her head to make sure he knew what she’d brought him.
“How’d you get unhooked from the team?” Grumpy took the gun belt out of her mouth. “You’re the best dog, ever.” He had trouble convincing Gretchen to move out of the way, but she finally did. Then he shot the lock and popped the door open.
Crawling out was somewhat painful. He was a lot bigger than Gretchen, who found her way back outside with ease. She pounced on him when they got outside. “You’re the best dang dog.” Grumpy re-hooked her to the team.
By the time they made it to town to get some help and got back to the monastery, four hours had passed. There was a clearing in the debris. All the alchemists’ equipment was gone, as were the cages. Most of the townsfolk didn’t believe his story.
After he got home, he sat in the kitchen trying to write up his report to the governor. He wondered if anyone would believe him. Gretchen took it from him and tore it up. She wanted to play
David B. Riley lives in Colorado. He edits Science Fiction Trails, which is a small press fiction m
agazine. Science Fiction Trails is the mirror image of this book, the same sort of stuff, but with a science fiction tilt instead of horror.
He has an affinity for weird western stories, in particular, and has written two novels along those lines. The Two Devils and The Devil’s Due are wild adventures into the weird wild west.
This is the first time Grumpy Gaines has appeared in print, though it probably won’t be his last.
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