"So I noticed. Guess the Judge ain't surrendering."
"He's not. Not that I expected him to. He's apparently emptied out his accounts, though. Hired every killer in the Territory by the looks of it."
"Yeah, he has you boxed in. Heard he's offered to negotiate with you. Something about partnering up to share resources."
The Baron exchanged a look with Wiley. "How did you hear that?"
"From the horse's mouth. The man was kind enough to pay me a visit this morning."
"Must have wanted something special."
"Yeah. Wants me to kill you."
The reaction was instant. Her gang turned around, some jumping up from chairs, drawing guns and pointing them at him.
The Baron smiled, waving them down. "Calm down, people. If Gunner planned on killing me, he wouldn't just walk in and announce it." She slid the bottle over to him, followed by a velvet sack that clinked as it hit his palm.
"That's a big hundred grand for the good work on the plan and your part in it. We wiped out the Judge's best people last night."
Wiley stepped up, teeth flashing in an artificial grin. "They were screaming like pigs. Running out of the building on fire, skin sizzling. Wasn't nothing to put 'em down. Nothing at all. Think they were glad to get shot. Hell will be a cool dip in the pool compared to that."
Gunner felt a shiver at the mention of fire. He ignored it, glancing at the Baron. "Thanks for the payment."
"Hope you're hungry for more, because we still have the Judge to take care of."
"He'll fall if you push hard enough."
"He's got an army."
Gunner bounced the sack of bulls in his hand before stashing it inside his duster pocket. "They're only here for the money. If the Judge dies, their contract does too. There will be no reason for them to fight."
"I've considered that. But it'll be hard for me to get someone close enough to draw a bead on him."
"Not if it's someone outside your circle. Someone he trusts."
"Someone like you."
"Someone like me. You gotta have a few hired guns that the Judge hasn't bought out. Lend them to me. At the parley, we'll bust in disguised as a rival gang and shoot up the place. I'll be sure my bullets hit the Judge."
"No way," Wiley said. "It's too risky. The Baron could be gunned down just as easily."
"No risk, no reward," Gunner said. "If you don't like it, be there and watch her back."
Wiley sneered. "So you can gun me down too? I know your type, Gunner. You're looking out for your own neck. Figure you can take out the competition and set yourself up as the new boss. That sound about right?"
"You mean the way you tried taking me out with your little hit job?"
The Baron gave Wiley an amused glance. His face turned scarlet, veins throbbing in his neck. "Don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm pretty sure you do—three-man Nimrod Squad, amateurs at best. You're an insecure man, Wiley. Thought I might be edging you out of the Baron's favor. And no wonder—you're not that bright. Next time you sent hitmen after me, make sure they're up to snuff."
Wiley leaned in close, teeth clenched. "I don't need to send hitmen. I can do for you right now."
The Baron put a restraining hand against his chest. "Enough. Gunner, you're saying you'll do this? You'll kill the Judge? For what price?"
Gunner jabbed a finger at Wiley. "I know you had him buy my Steed from Dusty Pete. And I think I know the reason why."
"I'm listening."
"You wanted me to stay in Town. You were planning on using me all along."
She gave him a coy smile. "You should be flattered. It's been a long time since a man impressed me, Gunner. Yes, I saw your potential. I figured I could use a man of your skills."
"Well, the payment is my Steed back."
"That's all? Funny, it wasn't even in very good shape. It must be very important to you."
"Sentimental value."
"Very well. For the life of the Judge, you get your Steed back. And take this as a bonus gift." She tossed another bag to him.
Catching it, he peered inside. "What's this?"
"Thirty silver bulls. Appropriate payment for a traitor like you."
Something struck him hard in the back of the head. He fell forward, crashing hard at the Baron's feet. Wiley stood over him, grinning with a rifle in his hand.
"Been looking forward to this for a long time."
He smashed the rifle butt into Gunner's face. The room turned hazy, the laughter garbled, and everything went dark.
Chapter 10: Soweth Discord
"Gunner."
Charred face, crimson eyes, skeletal grin. Fire everywhere, flames crackling, heat searing, smoke smothering, the stench of burnt wood and burned bodies. Sky the color of blood, screams echoing in the air...
"He's out of it. Pathetic."
The voice, familiar. Gunner's eyes blinked open. The Judge's face swam into view as the world slowly coalesced. A look of triumph glimmered in his gaze.
"Ah, there you are. The turncoat awakens."
Gunner tried to leap to his feet, but firm hands held him down on his knees. His hands were secured in front of him by heavy manacles. It was hard to see. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the entire side of his face one massive bruise. The pain throbbed in his head like an agonizing heartbeat.
"Such a busy little troublemaker." The Baron stood beside the Judge, pursing her lips. She bent over to seize a handful of Gunner's hair, yanking his head back so that he stared up at her. "Did you really think we'd be so blind to fall for your little plan? Play one side against the other while you profit no matter who's standing at the end? How did that work out for you?"
Dirty chuckles from the men standing around. They were still in the Baron's saloon. The significant difference was the presence of the Judge and an entire crew of his new hands. Waingrow was there with them, looking on with a guilty expression.
Gunner gritted his teeth, trying to manage a smile. "Guess it didn't work well enough."
"No," the Judge said. "It didn't. You taught us a valuable lesson, though. Had the Baron and I come to accord from the beginning, your little scheme would never have worked. Well, we put aside our differences. Good news for us. But terrible news for you, I'm afraid."
Gunner barked a laugh. "Do either of you really believe you can trust the other after what you've done? The Baron set you up at the train heist. She finished killing your people just last night. Her hands are still wet with their blood."
"And she's going to make up for that. She'll be splitting the cost of the men I just hired on. In the end, mercenaries are expendable. I can always find more killers. And when it comes to it, better to trust the devil you know than the one you don't."
Gunner looked at the Baron. "And you. The Judge had your precious mines shut down. He wants to put you out of business. Permanently."
She backhanded him across the face. "Do you think anyone is going to listen to any more of your lies, little man? You made your first mistake in those mines when you set the Ferals free. Did you think no one noticed? Waingrow had eyes on you the entire time. That's when we knew you had a personal agenda. You actually felt for those beasts. You lied and backstabbed just for a chance to free them. The rumors are true, aren't they?"
Wiley leaned in close, a leer on his face. "Turned Feral, didn't ya?"
The Baron's mouth twisted in disgust. "They say you turned against your own kind, going from killing Ferals to killing your brothers in arms. That's why you had to leave Texas. The Rangers have a bounty on your head for treason and murder. But they don't get to kill you. We do. We'll send them your body for the reward. Whatever's left, anyway."
The Judge beckoned to the door. "It's time. Bring him."
As Gunner was roughly hauled to his feet, he gave it one last shot. "You can't trust her. She had Bane gunned down to make it easier to kill you."
The Judge looked amused. "So desperate. It's sad. I expected more from you. I guess repu
tation can't be trusted after all.
Who do you think that is behind you right now?"
Gunner craned his neck, looking back and upward. Bane's electric blue eyes stared back at him; hideous face shadowed by his hat. His bulky hands clamped down on Gunner's shoulders, holding him in place with ease.
"The Baron was kind enough to have one of her engineers repair Bane. He's as good as new. Unfortunately, the same won't be said about you when I'm finished."
The door opened and Gunner was shoved out, blinking in the burst of blazing sunlight. A tumultuous roar greeted him. A sea of angry faces lined the streets, shouting in rage and bloodlust. They shook fists and shouted furious insults, whipped into a killing frenzy. A well-aimed rock struck him in the brow when he stumbled down the steps. More rained down until the Judge's men fired warning shots into the air. Bane seized Gunner by the back of his neck and dragged him along like a man might do an ornery pup. The crowd followed alongside, pushing and shoving one another as they shouted murderous encouragement.
"Feral lover!"
"Kill him!"
"Hang the sonovabitch!"
Dust choked him, seizing in his throat. The sun beat down without mercy, a ball of white heat in sky pale from the blistering heat. Sweat dripped down Gunner's face, dampened his shirt. His feet dragged in the coppery dust. The Baron walked alongside, watching him as if drinking in his torment. The Judge strutted ahead, waving at the crowds as if they had gathered to bask in his excellence. All around were stranger's faces; laughing, jeering, shouting. The buildings loomed like mute witnesses, bent and broken, blurred faces peeking from windows. He was half-dragged, half-shoved down the streets for what seemed an eternity until finally arriving at a familiar location. A cage hung from an erected beam. Pablo was still captive behind the bars, looking a madman with his beard and hair disheveled, bony limbs hunched over. A noose hung beside the cage, swinging ominously in the wind.
The Judge leaped onto the veranda of the Mercantile, gesturing to the crowds like a traveling performer. "Good people of the Town, there has been murder and violence running amok in the streets the last few days and nights. And after a quick and efficient investigation, we have captured the criminal responsible. Bring forth the fiend known only as Gunner: turncoat and murderer, friend of Ferals and other unnatural beasts!"
The crowd screamed from the streets and balconies as Bane dragged Gunner to the noose. The Baron set a stool down, and Bane hefted Gunner with one hand, setting him upon it and slipped the noose over his head, tightening it around his neck. Something rumbled in the distance, nearly drowned out by the roars of the people.
Pablo thrust his head through the bars, eyes wide and looking half-crazed. His face was sunburnt, skin peeling, lips cracked and bloody. "Fear not those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul, amigo. You need not become faint out of fear. The storm has arrived. I see it approach on the horizon, blazing with lightning that turns the darkness into daylight!"
Wiley slammed his rifle against the cage. "Shut your hole or you'll be next, old man. Ain't no storm coming. Not today, not tomorrow, not next week."
The Judge continued his deliberation. "Here is a man so guilty of crimes in the sovereign territory of Texas that he had to flee in cowardice, slinking in the shadows until he arrived here. And upon arriving, what did he do? Immediately fell into the same criminal activities: gunning down men doing their lawful duty, leading my people into a fatal ambush, unleashing a pack of wild Ferals into the mines to slaughter the workers, and finally murdering an entire squad of your protectors in a killing spree just last night. I have examined the evidence and pronounce him guilty of all charges. And what is the punishment for such foul and heinous crimes?
"Hang 'im high!"
"Send him swinging!"
"Hang him!"
"Stretch 'im out!
"Hang him!"
"Hang him!"
The crowd chanted the refrain over and over, throwing rocks, bottles, and trash at Gunner. He winced as some of the objects struck, but focused more on keeping his balance on the rickety and unbalanced stool. The noose tightened around his neck, rope fibers digging into his skin. His feet shifted back and forth, barely able to touch the wooden seat.
The Judge motioned with his hands, quieting the crowd. They waited in giddy anticipation, mouths open, insipid smiles on their faces, ravenously awaiting the pronouncement of judgment that would result in Bane kicking the stool away.
The Judge dragged the moment out, dramatically turning to Gunner. "Does the accused have any last words?"
Gunner gurgled, trying to work moisture into his mouth. "You just…made the worst…mistake of your miserable life."
The Judge smiled as the air rang with mocking and scornful laughter. When the noise died down, he made a flamboyant gesture toward Gunner. "Then by the power invested in me, I sentence you to hang by the neck until—"
His voice was drowned out by a massive boom of thunder that reverberated so forcefully that the buildings shook and dust was flung into the air. Red warning lights flashed on the towers and lampposts; alarms blared over loudspeakers.
"Megastorm coming," someone shouted. "Headed right at us!"
Gunner glanced at the skyline, where a monster cloud mass gathered at impossible speeds, darkening the horizon, unleashing silver lightning and booming thunder, approaching like doomsday, churning in impossible formations. A gale-force wind rushed in, tearing shingles off rooftops, swirling dust in cyclonic bursts, sweeping coats and dusters back, snatching hats off heads. Gunner gasped; teeth gritted as he nearly lost his perch. He desperately tried to keep his feet flat to keep the stool from tumbling over. The rope dug further into his neck, burning his skin.
The crowds scattered, running for cover as the sky quickly darkened, and thunder continued to shake the buildings. Lightning rods were triggered by the alarms, rising from the building rooftops and stretching toward the sky. Fat raindrops fell, splashing against the dry, dusty streets and buildings like water balloons. It quickly became a deluge, streaming down as if emptied from buckets, soaking Gunner to the skin. From the corner of his eye he saw Pablo silhouetted by flickering lightning and glittering rain; on his knees with his bony arms outstretched and his head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth wide open as if in a triumphant shout. Whatever words he spoke were drowned out by the ear-ringing booms of thunder.
The Judge glared up at the sky as if furious at the interruption, but he hopped off the veranda and joined the crowds fleeing the area. Looking back, he waved his arms, mouthing words unheard in the chaos. Bane seemed to understand anyway, kicking the stool out from under Gunner's feet before trudging away.
The noose seized his neck, crushing his throat as his body weight pulled against the rope and sealed his doom. His legs kicked uncontrollably, body seized by violent seizures, heart exploding in his chest. His vision darkened, darkness came to claim him, filled with weeping voices, burning bodies, and a gaunt, blacked-garbed figure with crimson eyes and a skeletal grin.
They took refuge in the Baron's saloon, nearly overcrowding it. Men and women lined the walls, sat at the tables, stood against the bar, leaned on the upstairs railing. Occasionally someone would look up when a particularly violent boom of lightning rattled the walls and ceiling. Water dripped from leaks in the shingles, but no one paid it any mind. They shook the water from their coats, opened bottles, poured liquor into glasses, and shouted at one another over the sound of the storm outside.
The Judge removed his hat, watching the water pool on the floor. He shook his head with a rueful grin. "Well, that didn't go as planned."
Waingrow looked at the window, where the steel storm shutters obscured the view of the gale. "Where the hell did that storm come from?"
"Megastorms always come out of nowhere. Just haven't had one around here for a long time."
"I was thinking we'd seen the last of them. Used to have a couple every year when I was a kid, but then they died off. I hear funny stuff used to happ
en in the old days. Stuff people couldn't explain."
The Baron approached with a bottle of Scotch and a pair of drinking glasses. "Don't believe everything the old folks told you about back in the day, Waingrow. They were always going on about monsters birthed from the storms, killing and preying on the weak and helpless. That's almost as bad as the stories about Aberrations destroying the world."
Waingrow took a few steps back, jaw working. "Well, they built the Havens for a reason. Damned if they didn't."
"The Denizens built the Havens because they were incredibly inept and afraid of the catastrophe they caused. Man-made, just like every other disaster. And while they slept, the rest of us kept going. Surviving. Rebuilding the world." She cracked the seal on the bottle and poured into the glasses, offering one to the Judge.
He accepted it with a tight smile. "And what do we toast to, now that we're back on good footing?"
She considered for a moment before answering with a smile of her own, raising her glass. "To rebuilding."
"I'll drink to that," he said, clinking glasses with her. "After you, of course."
She laughed. "So much for trust." Tilting the glass back, she downed the whiskey in a single swig. The Judge followed suit only after watching her swallow.
"You can hardly fault me. It seems you've grown quite devious these past few months."
"I had an excellent mentor."
"And here we are. Gunner was right about one thing. It will be impossible to trust after this. Some sins are just too blatant to forgive. Like the murder of twenty-seven of my best people, many of them my relatives."
Her eyes flicked to the crowded room, where the mercenaries and outlaws drank and conversated, at first glance appearing casual and laid back. Until a closer look revealed the tightness of their eyes, the tense postures, the way their hands never strayed from the weapons in their holsters.
"I suppose your new triggers are just waiting for the command to open fire. I have to warn you that mine have the same orders. It will be a bloodbath."
"For you. I have at least twice the numbers that you do."
The Gunner Chronicles Page 11
