Cowboy Necromancer: Infinite Dusk

by Harmon Cooper

  The woman didn’t have anything on her, but she was wearing a necklace, which Sterling quickly removed. The necklace had a bright blue stone on it, and as Sterling examined the piece, information materialized in front of him.

  Item: Topaz Necklace

  Item Type: Common

  Description: Grants one additional Resolve Point

  “Might as well,” Sterling said as he took off his hat and put the necklace on.

  Bonus: You have been granted an additional Resolve Point!

  The necklace was listed as Common, which meant that it wasn’t worth that much. The other item types he had encountered were Uncommon, Rare, and Legendary. In any event, charms like this were always good to have, and he was pretty sure he would be collecting plenty over the course of the journey he was about to take. Besides, Sterling could always trade it later on, once he got something better.

  He recalled there being six Killbillies last night, and saving the camp itself for last, Sterling quickly made a wide circle around the place to collect loot. He didn’t find anything worth taking until he came to what was left of the campfire, where he discovered a dead man clutching the shotgun. He also found what was left of his gruesome animate, Sterling glad he hadn’t been dropped near the corpse.

  The man with the shotgun wore a bulletproof vest, which told Sterling that he was the leader of this little band of Killbillies. Bulletproof vests weren’t easy to come by, and considering where Sterling was going, he knew he would need one. He also saw that the bandits had some provisions near the campfire, which had a few red embers going strong. There was a bit of mesquite nearby, and soon, after poking around in the ashes, Sterling had himself a fire.

  “A proper English breakfast,” he mumbled as Manchester approached, which was something he recalled reading in a book. He had no idea what a proper English breakfast consisted of, but if it didn’t have peppers involved, Sterling wanted nothing to do with it.

  He located a metal tin of coffee, which he added to an empty pot. He then found a big water jug. After filling the pot, and subsequently taking a long sip of the cool water, Sterling sent the jug to his inventory list. He always had water available through his inventory list, but it was smart to have extra. There was a pan, which Sterling figured would be useful in cooking up a few chili peppers. Of the provisions that the bandits had left out, he had found some dried goat meat and cabbage. He used the curved edge of his sickle-sword to chop this stuff up on a rock, and then took three Big Jim green peppers from his inventory list, chopping them as well. He put it all in the pan, just as the coffee was done boiling. Adding a little water to the pan, Sterling cooked the ingredients together, wishing he had an egg to crack over it.

  But it would still be good enough.

  There was a metal cup sitting on the ground, which Sterling used for the coffee. It was bitter and grainy, but the coffee wasn’t half bad, and he still had a couple of ounces of ground coffee in the tin for later, which he sent to his inventory list. Once his breakfast was ready, Sterling ate the food right from the piping hot frying pan, glad that the peppers had provided some flavoring. After a second cup of coffee, he turned his attention back to the Killbilly with the bulletproof vest.

  Sterling set his cup down and grabbed the man by the legs, dragging him away from the campfire. He took off the camouflage vest the man was wearing, and removed the handkerchief around his neck, whistling some song he didn’t quite know as he did so. It took a little finagling, but he was finally able to get the bulletproof vest off the man’s body.

  Sterling had worn one before, several years ago. They were a bit uncomfortable, but it would certainly be helpful in Las Cruces. Sterling removed his cowboy hat, his black duster, and his black pearl-snap button-up shirt. He wore an undershirt, which he kept on as he slipped into the bulletproof vest. He could smell the man’s musk on the vest, but it wasn’t too overpowering, and he knew that it would eventually fade. Once the vest was on, he checked his arm movement, and then got dressed again.

  There was one last thing he needed to do before he left the campsite.

  Sterling unsheathed his sickle-sword from its breakaway scabbard and cut the Killbilly leader’s wrist. After wiping his blade on the man’s body, he returned the weapon to its sheath and angled the man’s wrist so his blood collected into a small puddle on the ground. He watched as the puddle of blood grew in size, focusing his gaze on the surface of the blood.

  It took six Mana Points to use his Death Whisper ability, but it was one of the best investigative techniques Sterling had at his disposal. The outline of a face began to appear on the surface of the blood. Glassy eyes blinked open, everything crimson, and the face gasped.

  “Where…?” the face whispered, the voice causing small bubbles to appear on the surface of the blood. “Where am I?”

  “I need some information,” Sterling said, a chill running down his spine. It was a strange power, and even though he’d used it plenty of times before, it always spooked him to some degree. “I’ll make this quick. What do I need to know about the Killbillies’ operations here in Southwestern New Mexico?”

  “Are… Are you God?” the face whispered, which was a query Sterling had heard plenty of times before.

  “Sure. Now, what do I need to know?”

  “Am… am I in heaven? It’s… dark here…”

  “Can’t tell you that part, amigo. Best advice I can give is to go toward the light, if there is a light.”

  “There’s… there’s no light.”

  “Well, best guess is to keep looking, and in the meantime, tell me what I need to know about the Killbillies around Hatch.”

  “There’s… there’s a supply camp in Radium Springs, not far from Hatch,” the voice whispered. “Commodore Bones is there.”

  “Commodore Bones? And who might that be?”

  “One… One of the three founders of the Killbillies. Commodore Bones.”

  “So he’s some kind of big shot, huh?”

  “He’s one of the three leaders…”

  “Hold on a moment.”

  Sterling didn’t quite know where Radium Springs was, so he equipped his New Mexico travel guide and located it on the stained map in the dog-eared part of the travel guide that detailed Southwestern New Mexico. Sure enough, Radium Springs was along Interstate 25, just outside of Las Cruces. He must have missed the sign on his last trip south. He sent his travel guide back to his inventory list.

  The way Sterling saw it, he had two options at this point: either try to avoid the supply camp completely by riding around it, or force his way through. The problem with riding around was there was a chance he would encounter an amalgamation out there in the wild, which was what the locals called the enormous monstrosities that now roamed the open deserts of New Mexico.

  But maybe it would be worth taking a chance if he didn’t have to deal with a horde of murdering Killbillies, plus it’d be easier to keep under the radar that way.

  Feeling the strain now from using his Death Whisper ability, Sterling slowly lowered his hand, the face he’d conjured melting back into the puddle of blood. “Thanks,” Sterling told the man as he stood. “And good luck finding that light.”

  He whistled for Manchester. His skeletal steed came trotting over to him, and once Sterling mounted up, he rolled himself a cigarette and went through the rigmarole of a morning stat check:

  You have received 481 XP!

  You have received an additional Resolve Point!

  You have received five additional Armor Points!

  “Ain’t nothing much, but it’ll do,” Sterling mumbled as he took a look at his stats.

  Name: Sterling Monedero

  Race: Human

  Mancer Class: Necromancer

  Class Ranking: Blood Mage

  Level: 59

  Fortitude: 117

  Strength: 35

  Resolve: 152

  Mana: 127/138

  Current Armor Rating: 28

  XP: 293,820

/>   XP to Next Level: 8,296

  Stat Points Available: 0

  Technique Points Available: 23

  Everything appeared to be in order.

  Sterling turned back to the highway, figuring he would branch off somewhere outside of the city of Hatch and try to head around the Killbilly supply camp. As much as he wanted to get revenge for what they had attempted to do to his ranch, he needed to get on with his journey. He knew Don Gasper well enough to know that the old shaman wouldn’t be sticking around in Las Cruces for long.

  A yellow sign outside the city of Hatch proclaimed that it was the chili capital of the world. Red chili wreaths, known locally as ristas, hung from the bottom of the sign. Sterling rode to Hatch about once a year to sell some of his crop. He knew one of the men that lived in the town, a fellow that went by the name Judge Toadvine, who had become one of those friends that you see every year or so. Sterling didn’t know if Judge had ever been a judge, and it didn’t really matter to him. The man had good peppers, and he kept good company.

  The interstate was about a mile away from the center of Hatch, and since he didn’t want anyone to see him riding in on a bone horse, he hopped off his horse long before he got to the center of the city. With a wave of his hand, Manchester crumpled to the ground, Sterling sending both his bone horse and his saddle back to his inventory list, which was a trick he would need to do from now on.

  As he went the rest of the way on foot, Sterling rolled a cigarette, noting that he would need to get more tobacco soon. He was definitely going to be spending some turquoise and silver in Hatch, and he only hoped that his friend Judge would have happened upon a chili he hadn’t tried before. Walking along Franklin Street, which Sterling only identified because of a sign that was still standing, the letter N peeled off, Sterling eventually found himself surrounded by a series of abandoned churches.

  The before people were real religious; the people that survived the Reset not so much. It wasn’t just Sterling’s memory that had been wiped after the Reset, and nowadays, anyone could believe any book they read as the truth, not just the Bible. Religions were aplenty, and kooks in the form of snake oil salesmen were easy to come by in the post-apocalyptic Southwest.

  Sterling recalled a man stopping by Truth or Consequences a year back, preaching from a collection of books about a boy wizard. A couple showed up a few months after, preaching from a self-help book about some great secret, some way to conjure everything a person wanted into their reality.

  It never stopped. There seemed to always be someone trying to convert someone to something, Sterling never much buying into it. But he didn’t judge them. To each his own was something Sterling both practiced and believed in, and as long as the religious folk weren’t threatening violence or giving him lip, he simply ignored them. Besides, he understood the importance of having something to believe in. It made everything easier.

  While most of Hatch’s churches had been abandoned, others had been repurposed into something that served the current community, like the Spanish Church of God Filadelfia. The outer walls of the church were made of adobe and painted white, giving a bleak and minimalist appearance to the church, the building anchored on either side by elm trees. The large door out front had since been removed, and there were a few bullet holes in the exterior mudbrick, any and all metal railing stripped away.

  It was more or less intact.

  Sterling stepped inside the church, colorful light coming through a sheet of stained glass depicting a man being crucified, images of people praying all around him. Morning, Jesus, Sterling thought as he tipped his hat toward the stained glass. The wooden pews of the church had been taken long ago, likely used for firewood, and other than the stained glass, any and all icons and other religious paraphernalia had been stripped away and either sold or repurposed.

  Booths were set against the walls, a few sellers seated on burnt orange stools negotiating prices with some locals, only one of the sellers spotting the lone man wearing all black now standing under the doorway. Sterling went straight to the first booth that had chilis for sale. “I’m looking for Judge,” he told the woman seated on the stool. She was at least a decade younger than Sterling, the caramel-skinned woman breastfeeding a baby wrapped to her chest in an old quilt. “Pardon me, ma’am,” Sterling started to say.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said, looking up at him, not at all embarrassed. She had almost blue-black hair, her eyes hazel and far apart from one another. “Did you say Judge?”

  “Judge Toadvine. He’s the one usually selling chilis around here. In fact, I’m pretty sure this used to be his booth. Did he move to a different church or something?”

  She swallowed hard. “Judge was killed, but his legacy lives on.”

  Sterling looked at the baby, who was still nuzzling at his mother’s nipple. “That Judge’s kid?”

  She nodded.

  “Ain’t that something,” Sterling said after a long pause. “I mean, my condolences.” He put out what was left of his cigarette into his palm, ignoring the sting as he went for his hat, which he held over his chest. He was happy that his friend had a child, especially with a young beautiful woman, but at the same time, he wasn’t expecting to hear that Judge had been killed. Judge was a tough old bastard, with big bear paws and a way of getting into things he shouldn’t be getting into, not unlike Kip. From what Sterling had experienced, Judge was the type that went looking for trouble, same as Kip, and when he was drunk enough, same as Sterling.

  “I’m truly sorry to hear about that,” he told the young woman. “You running the pepper farm now?”

  “Trying to, me and my brother.”

  “Well, I don’t know if Judge ever mentioned me, but I’m a farmer from T or C. We traded before. He never said he had…” Sterling cleared his throat. “My condolences,” he said again. Considering Sterling had seen Judge just about a year ago, everything added up, including the baby.

  “I was new in his life, and he was new in mine,” she said in a nonchalant way.

  “Well, I won’t bother you much longer, then, ma’am,” Sterling said, not quite able to navigate how he should be conversing with the young woman. While she seemed sad about Judge’s death, she also seemed a bit disinterested, which was likely a wall she’d put up to protect herself. Sterling couldn’t blame her for that—most everyone he’d met had erected a wall to shield themselves from grief. “If you’re looking to sell, I’d love to take some peppers off your hands.”

  The woman stood, nearly hitting her head on a rista that hung above her. Still holding the baby to her chest, she motioned for Sterling to follow her to the back of her booth, where there were a wide variety of peppers laid out on old yellow newspaper, wicker baskets beneath the table.

  “These here look like my Big Jims,” Sterling said as he examined some of the larger green peppers. “Damn good spice on these ones too. Nearly ten thousand on the Scoville scale.”

  “Have you tried the NuMex Jalmundo Jalapeños?” she asked, motioning toward a couple green peppers.

  “Interesting name, but no. I’m guessing whoever made it combined mundo, the Spanish word for ‘world,’ and jalapeño. So, jalmundo.”

  The woman shrugged. Her baby pressed away from her nipple and started coughing. She turned, her child recovering a few seconds later. “I don’t know nothing about their names, mister, I just know that they are hotter than a witch’s titty in a brass bra, as Judge used to say.”

  Sterling snorted. “He did say that from time to time, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a grim smile, “he did. About seventeen thousand Scoville, at least that’s what he claimed. He was bragging about these ones a bunch. We got some of the normal things you’ll see around these parts, some mild Parkers, Chimayó, nothing like this though. If you know, sometimes this one guy comes around with a string of NuMex Orange Spice, but he hasn’t been around in a week. Heard of that one?”

  “Hold on,” Sterling said as he equipped his travel g
uide, which also had a few magazine clippings regarding peppers that he’d stuffed in the back. He located a double page spread with a listing of peppers on it, and found a picture of an orange pepper about three or four inches long. “There it is, I’ll be damned. NuMex Orange Spice. That was one of the newest ones before the Reset,” he said. “I thought I’d heard that name before.”

  “It was new?”

  Sterling nodded. “Developed by New Mexico State University, real hot. Almost eighty thousand Scoville.”

  “Dang… eighty?” she asked, her baby starting to cry. “Shhh, shhh, momma’s here. Shhh, quiet.”

  Sterling cleared his throat. “Anyhow, I won’t bother you any longer, but I’d love to get me some of them Jalmundos. How much are you looking to part with?”

  “You can have them all if you got the silver.”

  “Shee-it, I believe I do,” Sterling said as he retrieved his bag of silver and turquoise from his inventory list. He located a few rings made of silver and set them on the table one by one until the woman was satisfied.

  “Thank you, mister,” she said.

  “No, thank you. I’ve got quite the journey ahead of me, and having a few peppers for either trading or eating will go a long way. Once again, I’m sorry to hear about your husband, about Judge. If he has a grave somewhere, let me know where it’s at and I’ll pay my respects.”

  She cast her eyes down to his boots. “Judge don’t have no grave.”

  “Well, if I come back again and he does have one by that point, you be sure to let me know.”

  “Will do, mister.”

  “Now, which one of these folks in here sells the best tobacco?”

  The young woman nodded her chin to a shop across from her. “This is the best.”

  “Thanks.” Sterling turned back to her. “One other thing, whatever happened to Judge? How did he die anyway? Don’t tell me it was Killbillies.”