Cowboy Necromancer: Infinite Dusk

by Harmon Cooper

  “I’ll lay low in Alamogordo until you get there,” said Gasper. “If you think about it, you’re basically doing a triangle if you come back in this direction after we finish in White Sands. First Madrid, then hopefully the Sunflower Kid, who is in the north, then back down to Alamogordo, White Sands, and maybe back here after. Who knows?”

  “The only way I’m coming back to Las Cruces is if someone drags me here kicking and screaming. But I could see myself going back to T or C for a day or so just to gather my wits. I promised them folks that I would run the Killbillies out of town.”

  “Sí. And there’s another reason you need to go there, to the White Sands Militia’s compound in the desert, something I failed to mention. As you know, sometimes I have visions, but I also hear things.”

  “Oh, yeah? What did you hear?” Sterling asked Gasper as he handed him another tortilla.

  “The White Sands Militia has a technomancer at the military base they now run.”

  “Why do I care about that?”

  “Don’t you get it? The reason you failed three years ago is because you didn’t have a technomancer.”

  “That isn’t the only reason…”

  “Think about it, mi poeta. Godwalkers have stripped the world of its means to produce electricity, at least on a large scale. They are powered by electricity, those monoliths are. I’ve seen one in action, and if anyone can bring one of the big ones down, it would be either an electromancer or a technomancer, and technomancers have different capabilities than electromancers. I know you destroyed a smaller one three years ago, but I’m talking about the big mamacitas. You get Roxy, you get this technomancer, and you and the Kid can help me out with these sorcerers that keep trying to kill me. One, two, three. It’s simple, math for a baby.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that this isn’t going to be as simple as you make it sound?”

  Don Gasper grinned. “You can do it; we can do it.”

  Sterling finished his tortilla and looked down at his hands, at the lines across his knuckles from the many wounds he’d received in fights. He had come to Las Cruces in search of Don Gasper for a reason, and now that reason was starting to present itself. Not only did he need to find those who were still alive, the three that had helped him years ago, but he would need new recruits, and they would likely all need to be mancers, aside from Roxy.

  “Looks like I’ll see your crazy ass in Alamogordo, Gasper,” Sterling finally said.

  The old shaman continued to smile, whiskers lifting off his lips as they parted. “Then it’s settled. I’ll be there waiting for you. I’m looking to go after these hechiceros alone, these goddamn witches. I’ll even kill Magdalena if I have to. I swear, Sterling. I don’t want to, but I will. No telling with this woman.”

  “Sounds like you got yourself a—”

  Brrrrt! Brrrrt!

  Bullets sprayed into the trailer, glass shattering, Sterling dropping immediately and pulling Don Gasper down with him. Another round tore through the metal and brought down all of the peyotera’s charms in the process.

  “They found us,” Don Gasper said. Sterling’s first thought was the gas stove, which was still on.

  “Shee-it…” He went for his revolver and shouldered out the door of the trailer, shooting indiscriminately at a group of Killbillies. He pushed over a picnic table and ducked behind it. “Gasper, get the hell out of there!”

  Sterling quickly accessed his inventory list and summoned Manchester’s bones, which all appeared in a pile in front of him. Sterling brought his skeletal steed to life, and fired his revolver once again as he helped Don Gasper out of the trailer. The Killbillies were now using the discarded remains of some of the other trailers as cover.

  “Get on the horse; I’ll catch up!”

  “Like hell I will,” Don Gasper said as he turned to the Killbillies. The old shaman began to hover in the air, practically daring them to try to shoot him.

  “You… sticking around?” Sterling asked, not at all surprised to see that Don Gasper could fly.

  “I sure as hell am,” he said, anger boiling across his face. “No one tries to kill me while I’m having my breakfast!”

  “Well, in that case…” Sterling slapped Manchester on his thigh bone, and his horse took off. A few of the Killbillies tried to fire at the skeletal steed, but Manchester was uncommonly fast, able to provide a distraction and get out of range so Sterling could get a better look at their assailants.

  I needed to level up anyway, he thought as he started shooting once again in the direction of the Killbillies.

  Whoosh!

  A fireball the size of a meteor struck the trailer, engulfing it in flames.

  Sterling knew it would explode at any moment, so he charged off to the left, Don Gasper zipping away as well. The shaman wasn’t a mancer, he wasn’t one of the Adapted. But like everyone else left alive after the Reset, he had stats and the ability to learn techniques, and Gasper had clearly spent some points to learn the technique that allowed him to fly. He floated well above the fight now, and as the trailer exploded the only thing that reached the old shaman was the smoke that followed.

  Sterling wasn’t so lucky.

  He felt the blast force and was barely able to get to the ground before debris flew over his shoulders. Sterling looked up, the dust clearing as he spotted the same pyromancer who had attacked him back at the supply camp. I should have killed her then, he thought. The pyromancer and the Killbillies had long-range capabilities, which he had as well, but if he really wanted to cut their numbers down and get the XP he needed, Sterling would need to get in close. It would need to be a direct shot when it came to the pyromancer, Sterling recalling that his bullets had passed right through her flame form.

  The Killbillies started firing on Don Gasper, who still hovered in the air above them, the pyromancer taking a moment to recharge. Sterling remembered her doing this back at the supply camp, her power seeming to take a lot out of her. Perhaps she was at a lower level than he had originally thought she was. That, or command over fire was an exhausting ability to wield.

  Either way, it didn’t matter.

  Sterling bolted toward the line of trailers and started to loop around the group of Killbillies in a similar fashion to what he had done back at Sam’s Club. But he wasn’t planning on flanking them this time; Sterling was looking for something. He figured that there would be a few graves around some of the trailer homes, and he wasn’t wrong. An abandoned trailer that had once been painted red caught his eye, Sterling noticing that there was a small grave marker out front.

  “You will do,” he said as he ran toward the grave. He called on his power, but rather than a human, a small lap dog began to claw its way out of the grave, the earth shifting.

  “Dang,” Sterling said as he frantically started looking around for more graves. He pulsed his arms, once again summoning his Death Sense power, hoping that he would be able to pick something up as he moved.

  The pyromancer lifted over the trailers separating Sterling from the Killbillies, flames spiraling around out of the bottom of her feet, her upper body tangible for once. He pointed his revolver at her just as she slammed into him with a force that sent the two of them flying through the walls of the nearest trailer home, the pyromancer holding on tight, her flame starting to lick up again by the time he was able to kick her away.

  “That was stupid,” he said as he pointed his gun at her tangible form and fired a shot that passed straight through her skull. The woman fell, the inferno raging around her feet slowly starting to dissipate, igniting the inside of the trailer.

  Got one, Sterling thought to himself as he pressed out of the debris. He grabbed the woman and dragged her out of the trailer, Sterling having to step through her flames to do so. Still standing over her, he fired yet another shot into the side of the pyromancer’s head to make sure she was dead.

  He looked up to see Don Gasper still in the air, occasionally coming down to give the Killbillies hell. He didn’t
know how many bandits there were, but the quick glance he got earlier told him there were at least a dozen.

  The tiny dog he had animated came over to him and sat, awaiting orders. Sterling would have kept the animal alive had it been larger, something like a pit or even a sheepdog. But it was a lap dog, a small one at that, not really something that could take a grown man down, especially one who had put a lot of Stat Points into Strength.

  “Sorry, fella,” Sterling said as he retrieved his power from the tiny dog. He then looked back at the pyromancer, an idea coming to him. He had animated a mancer before and knew that their powers didn’t carry over. Still, it would have a psychological effect on the other bandits. The woman slowly stood, her shoulders hunched over for a moment, blood now covering her face from the two bullet wounds.

  “Give them hell,” Sterling told her, pointing in the direction of the gunfire.

  She took off running. Sterling was almost certain that it would shock the Killbillies. Rather than immediately join her, Sterling quickly retrieved his bag of tobacco and his rolling papers. He rolled up a quick cigarette and lit it.

  “Welp, here goes nothing,” he said, cigarette hanging for dear life on the end of his lip as Sterling went for his sickle-sword.

  It was time to solidify that level up.

  Sterling crept up on the Killbillies, the group already startled by the appearance of the dead pyromancer. He climbed up onto a trailer and crouched, Sterling doing a quick headcount of his opponents. Don Gasper had killed two of them—Sterling didn’t know how—but there were still a good ten Killbillies left.

  Cigarette still in his mouth, Sterling hopped down behind them and rushed forward with his sickle-sword. He struck the first bandit down, pulled back on his head and slit his throat, blood spritzing as he moved on to the next, Sterling ready to get this over with. The next Killbilly tried to hit Sterling with the butt of his gun, but he was faster than the man, able to send his sword in from the side through an opening in the man’s poorly fitting body armor and pierce his guts. He yanked his blade out, and used the man as cover while another Killbilly started firing on him, shell casings flying in the air.

  “You got shitty friends,” Sterling said as he tossed the man aside. He retrieved his revolver and shot the Killbilly that had just attempted to fill his body with bullet holes. Bam! Sterling then fired a shot into the Killbilly he had used as a shield, one in the back of the head to make sure he was dead.

  His revolver back in its holster, Sterling bolted forward, turquoise energy radiating off the tip of his sickle-sword as he brought it into the shoulder of another bandit. Sterling could only imagine what the pain felt like as he cleaved his sword out and spun, his momentum and added strength taking the man’s head off, followed by a trail of blood, a shocked look on the man’s face as it smacked against an old tire.

  By this point there were six bandits left, Don Gasper continuing to distract the Killbillies by coming down from the sky to deliver punches. The pyromancer’s corpse was also active in the battle, the dead woman latching onto a man’s leg and simply biting into his thigh, a female Killbilly trying to pull her off.

  The largest of the bandits towered over the others, the man’s shoulder width easily twice that of Sterling’s, several heads taller, too. He wielded a metal baseball bat that looked custom-made for his size.

  “I think I’ll call you Goliath,” Sterling said as he flicked his cigarette at the brute.

  The big man turned to him, grunted, and charged, preparing to hit a homerun. Sterling fired a shot that broke through the bridge of the Killbilly’s nose, tearing out the back of his oversized skull. The Southwest Neanderthal hit the ground and slid, stopping just a few feet away from the tip of Sterling’s boots.

  “Dumbass,” Sterling said as he turned his focus to the four still standing. Don Gasper landed, and Sterling waved him away. “They’re mine.”

  Gasper nodded and stepped back, seemingly an old shaman again, as if he hadn’t been zipping around in the air just moments ago, delivering death punches from the sky. Sterling cleaved his way through a couple of the Killbillies. The next, a stocky male with a yellow bandanna splattered with blood, came forward with a crowbar. Sterling slugged him once in the face, feeling bones crack beneath the force of his fist. He quickly circled around him, pulled his head back and slit his throat, letting him fall to the ground.

  The final Killbilly, a skinny man with long arms, surveyed the carnage, yelped, and took off running.

  “That’ll do,” Sterling said as he sheathed his sickle-sword and once again retrieved his revolver. He fired a shot into the back of the man’s head, killing him dead. “Gasper?”

  “I’m here,” the shaman told him, breathing heavily now. “I wasn’t expecting to see one of your zombies. It’s always jarring.”

  “Yup.” Sterling looked toward the far end of the trailer park and saw his skeletal steed. He whistled, and Manchester came running. While he waited for his horse to arrive, he took the power back from the pyromancer, Sterling feeling a tiny flourish of energy in his chest as she fell to the ground, her legs splayed out.

  “Always gruesome,” Gasper commented.

  “It is what it is.”

  The shaman nodded as Manchester approached. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, and as much as I’d like to finish my breakfast, I think it’s best that we both get the hell out of Las Cruces before word gets out.”

  “Damn straight,” Sterling said as he caught his breath, his fist pressed against his side. “You want a ride?”

  “No, I’m going in the opposite direction. But I do got something for you.” Gasper produced a piece of paper with a wax seal on it in the shape of a skull. “I made this for you while you were gone yesterday. This will get you into any pueblo across the state. I wouldn’t say I’m famous in these parts, but I’m definitely infamous. It’ll help you, trust me.”

  “Yeah?” Sterling asked as he took the piece of paper and examined it. It had Don Gasper’s signature on it, and the wax seal. That was it. Sterling extended his hand to the shaman, the seal going to his inventory list. “Then I guess I’ll see you in Alamogordo,” he said as the two shook hands.

  “Get the Sunflower Kid, and meet me there. Maybe a week? That’s plenty of time for you, no?”

  “A week? I don’t know how long it’s going to take me,” Sterling said, “but I’ll help you with those evil sorcerers, you just got to wait for me.”

  “Pinche maleficiadores…”

  “Yup, just wait for me if you want my help. We’ll get them, Gasper; we’ll get Roxy and this technomancer too.” Sterling equipped his saddle and placed it on Manchester’s back, the bone horse calm as always.

  “In that case, I guess this is goodbye. Buena suerte.”

  “Good luck to you too, Gasper. Until we meet again.” Sterling mounted up and tipped his hat to the old shaman. He clicked his tongue and trotted away, once again aimed at the interstate, looking to get as far away from the scene of the battle as he could.

  There was one last thing Sterling needed to do before he headed north. His stats appeared in front of him.

  You have received 3,400 XP!

  You have gained a level!

  You have received six Stat Points!

  You have received one bonus Stat Point!

  You have received one Technique Point!

  You have received nine bonus Technique Points!

  You have received one Class Proficiency Bonus!

  You have learned a new class skill called Mold Manipulation!

  You are now a Bone Sculptor!

  “Shee-it yeah, feels good,” Sterling said as he quickly assigned the seven Stat Points. Once again, he wanted to be sure he had plenty of Mana, so he dumped all seven points there, figuring he would distribute things differently once he got his next level. The charm he had picked up at the trading post worked like, well, a charm. He had received eight additional Technique Points from his arrowhead-shaped rattlesnake necklace, along
with an additional point from the leather bracelet he wore. The bonus stat point had come from the rattlesnake tail he wore on one of his belt loops, plus he had the ten percent Mana boost from the dream catcher, and that wasn’t to mention his new classification and class skill.

  Name: Sterling Monedero

  Race: Human

  Mancer Class: Necromancer

  Class Ranking: Bone Sculptor

  Level: 60

  Fortitude: 117

  Strength: 35

  Resolve: 152

  Mana: 99/159

  Current Armor Rating: 28

  XP: 304,824

  XP to Next Level: 9,100

  Stat Points Available: 0

  Technique Points Available: 10

  He could figure out the Technique Points and what his new class skill was on his way north. For now, Sterling just wanted to ride. He heard Don Gasper call out to him and Sterling simply lifted a hand over his head, throwing the old shaman the peace sign.

  The week had started out poorly, but things were starting to look up. And they would look even better once he got the hell out of Las Cruces. Sterling rolled himself a quick cigarette and lit it, the sun bearing down on him.

  “¡Vamos!” he told Manchester, and the bone horse galloped even faster.

  Part Two

  Crescit Eundo; Culto Demente Sagrado; Skeleton Man on the Turquoise Trail to Madrid; Ram; and Staying the Hell Out of Albuquerque No Matter What

  .Chapter One.

  Interstate 25, somewhere near Hatch, New Mexico.

  Not too distant future.

  Sterling Monedero felt an obligation to stop and see if Judge Toadvine had taken responsibility for the family he had started. After all, Sterling had promised the man he would give him a whooping if he tried to run out on his family again. Aside from that, Judge’s child was named after Sterling, which made him feel like he was a godfather of sorts, even if that had never been officially established.