Cowboy Necromancer: Infinite Dusk

by Harmon Cooper

  Along the way to Hatch, with the ultimate goal of reaching Truth or Consequences before nightfall, Sterling had considered what he should do with the Class Proficiency bonus point he had received after the level up. It really was a tough choice. He also had Technique Points to distribute, something he figured he would do before bed, when he could really dig into his options. One thing was for certain, the charms that he had picked up from the trading post had helped, and he needed more turquoise and silver to buy more charms as he headed north.

  As he had done several times over the last few hours, a cigarette at the corner of his mouth, Sterling took another look at his class skills, including his newest ability, Mold Manipulation.

  Necromancer Class Skills

  Death Whisper: Class Proficiency Level 4

  Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points

  Description: Can communicate with the deceased; blood needed to do so.

  ——

  Resurrection: Class Proficiency Level 3

  Casting Cost: 5 Mana Points

  Description: Can summon at will, but doing so takes a cut of MP until the animate is relinquished.

  ——

  Enhanced Durability: Class Proficiency Level 2

  Description: Enhanced durability, plus grafting at higher levels.

  ——

  Death Sense: Class Proficiency Level 2

  Description: Able to sense the bodies of the dead around you. Higher levels allow for wider ranges, including remote animating.

  ——

  Mold Manipulation: Class Proficiency Level 1

  Casting Cost: 6 Mana Points

  Description: Able to manipulate and conjure mold. Higher levels allow for stronger and further reaching creations.

  His Death Sense, Enhanced Durability, and new Mold Manipulation abilities were at the lowest levels. By focusing on them, he was able to see what the single level up available to him as a Class Proficiency bonus would bring. If he leveled up his Death Sense ability, Sterling would be able to sense possible animates in a thirty-foot radius. He knew this would prove useful, especially if he was sneaking up on someone or needed a quick surprise.

  If he leveled up his Enhanced Durability, Sterling would unlock grafting, which according to the description would allow him to merge dead bodies and body parts together to create something new if he so wanted. It would also allow him to merge something dead with something living, which he hadn’t yet figured out a use for, but sounded potentially helpful. Or at least odd.

  Sterling had long ago come to grips with what he was, but reading descriptions in his class skills, and also seeing other people’s reactions, was a constant reminder of his bizarre existence and what it meant to the wider world.

  There was also the option of putting the single Class Proficiency bonus into Mold Manipulation, but this wouldn’t come coupled with any boost for doing so, not yet anyway. He would have to wait until the third level to unlock something new.

  As he pulled off the highway—Sterling having already passed Commodore Bones’ supply camp a ways back by making a wide circle around the place—he went ahead and made the split second decision to level up his Enhanced Durability class skill, unlocking a grafting ability. He could focus on improving his Death Sense ability next. Sterling wondered if there was a charm that would grant him more Class Proficiency bonuses. Information flashed in front of him once he distributed the bonus:

  Enhanced Durability: Class Proficiency Level 3

  Grafting Casting Cost: 15 Mana Points

  Description: Enhanced durability and grafting.

  “Grafting, huh? Always something, ain’t that right, Manchester?” he asked as he patted his bone horse on its exposed vertebrae. As he had before, Sterling headed toward a subdivision outside of town, where he deanimated Manchester and sent the horse to his inventory list. The streets of Hatch were dusty as always, cracked, full of empty lots checkered with thirsty shrubs that would kill for a drop of water if they could. Not many people were out, but there was a mangy old mutt rummaging through an old trash can, its brindle coat marred by fresh gash wounds.

  “Poor fella,” Sterling said as he rounded the corner of Hatch’s Spanish Church of God Filadelfia, which was now a trading outpost. Once again, he took in the striking old church, made of adobe and painted white, almost alien in the way it stood out among the ramshackle homes in what used to be the self-proclaimed Chili Capital of the World.

  Sterling slipped into the church, and felt relief roll down his shoulders as he saw Judge seated with Luna, the heavyset man bouncing his baby on his knee. Judge locked eyes with Sterling and nodded, a big smile forming on his face. “¡A la maquina! If it ain’t the man of the hour.”

  “Glad to see you made it,” Sterling said as he approached the big man, offering him a firm handshake.

  “I could say the same for you, amigo. Get what you wanted in Las Cruces?”

  “Shee-it, more or less…”

  “I heard about what happened at that supply camp,” Judge said in a low voice. He whistled. “You sure gave them hell, didn’t you? I knew you would.”

  “Someone had to.”

  “They’re going to come after you.”

  “They already are. Killed me at least a baker’s dozen back in Las Cruces.”

  “Damn, man.”

  “Hi, Mister Sterling,” said Luna, beaming a smile up at him. The young woman was in a pair of her man’s overalls judging by the size, the pant legs rolled up to her knees. She was seated on a stool in front of several rows of peppers, and Sterling’s mouth watered just looking at the chilis.

  “Looks like you’ve been riding a while,” Judge said.

  Sterling ran his hand down the arm of his duster and brushed some of the dirt away. “I guess you could surmise that.”

  “You hungry?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

  “You’d have to ask someone that lives further north. Ain’t no bears around these parts, far as I know. Luna, baby, go get the man something from Manuel.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “What do you want, pal? Green chili stew or chili relleno. He gots tamales as well,” Judge told Sterling.

  “Man, if life ain’t filled with tough choices. Make it tamales, green.”

  “Oh, for sure, a little hot out there for stew anyway,” Luna said as she left to fetch the food.

  Judge watched her walk away and licked his lips. “Such a good girl. You were right in telling me to come back. She thinks I’m some kind of hero, believe it or not.”

  “Ha! I’ll bet she does.”

  “Best tamales in town, by the way, let me be the first to tell you that. You’re going to be full, you might walk out of here looking pregnant,” Judge said. The baby cooed. “Ain’t that right, little Sterling, he’s going to be ready to roll over and take a nap? Yes? Yes, you are a handsome boy. Did you say hello to your godfather?”

  “I was wondering if I was the kid’s godfather,” Sterling said as he removed his hat and held it over his chest for a moment out of respect.

  “Put your hat back on. Of course you’re the kid’s godfather. Do you think I trust any of these crazy Hatch motherfuckers to look after Little Sterling if something kills me?” Judge started laughing. “I’m just kidding you. Luna can look after him if something happens to me, she’s already shown you that. But you’re on the hook if something happens to both of us, got that?”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Little Sterling had a cowlick of brown hair, the baby well-fed. There was a string of snot hanging from his nose, but other than that he looked presentable, the child wearing a handmade blue onesie.

  “What’s up next? T or C?”

  “That’s the plan,” Sterling said.

  “And from there?”

  “North,” Sterling told him. “Taking the Turquoise Trail to Madrid. Looking for someone along the way.”

  “Dang, that’s some pretty country out there near Madrid, as long as you a
void Albuquerque. Duke City is a hellhole.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Avoid it like the plague. Lots of people still left there, turf warfare, all that nonsense. The damn Barelas Glyphs. From what Luna tells me, them or the Alta Monte Homecidos make the Killbillies look like benevolent benefactors. Her parents live around there, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard. And believe you me, I’ve had enough of turf wars; just got a dose of that ridiculousness in Las Cruces,” Sterling told Judge, referring to the power struggle between the Killbillies and White Sands Militia.

  “Hell, I wouldn’t go to Las Cruces either. You are a braver man than I.”

  “Yet you were going to serve in the Killbillies…”

  Judge shrugged off this comment. “I told you why. There’s not a damn thing a man won’t do for money, before the Reset or after. And if he won’t do it, you’ll just find someone that will.”

  “Can’t argue with that logic,” Sterling admitted.

  While Luna was away, Sterling used a little of the turquoise and silver he had left to purchase more tobacco. He was in the process of rolling up a couple cigarettes when the nineteen-year-old returned with a metal plate piled high with tamales next to a scoop of green chilis, diced to perfection.

  “You’re going to give me one of them tamales, right?” Judge asked.

  “I’ll think about it,” Sterling told him with a grin on his face. He tucked a cigarette behind his ear and put the other two that he had rolled in his front pocket. Once he had the plate, Sterling dug in, removing the corn husks from the tamales and dipping them into the salsa.

  “These your chilis?” Sterling asked after his first bite.

  “Sure are,” Judge said.

  “Damn, that’s how Big Jims are supposed to taste.”

  “I live in the Chili Capital of the World,” Judge reminded him as he handed young Sterling off to Luna, “and I’ve got to live up to that reputation. You’re welcome to stay the night, if you’d like.”

  Sterling offered Judge a tamale. “Nope, I’ve got to keep on keeping on.”

  Satiated, and with enough cigarettes to get him to Truth or Consequences, Sterling continued on his way, following Interstate 25 north. He saw a few travelers ahead, men on horses. He clicked his tongue and Manchester moved away from the road, Sterling hoping to get far enough away from them that they wouldn’t pay any attention to him. He was able to do so, the heat of the day affecting the landscape that lay before him, a buttery smear to everything.

  As he trotted along, he made out a string of purple mountains in the distance, Sterling wondering how long it would take him to actually ride out to them. It seemed like everywhere he went in southwestern New Mexico featured a chain of mountains on the horizon, yet he never could quite reach them.

  There’s a metaphor for life in there somewhere, he thought as he continued on his way, seeing a sign for a small town called Salem all but abandoned. He wondered where that name came from. Salem. Nothing else like that around. He had ridden through Salem before, on a different trip down to Hatch. The only thing left standing after the Reset was a church on a hill, its cross barely intact. Yet another religious institute in the Land of Enchantment, a trend started by the Spaniards.

  Sterling had seen some of the ruins that were scattered across the state, many made from mud, some with placards in front explaining just how old they were. As he rode, he thought about the Spaniards coming up from Mexico, and what they must have thought when they encountered various natives who lived in their fortified pueblos.

  What was the point of all of it anyway? After all that effort to go from the old world to the new only to encounter hostile natives—hostile for good reason, considering what the Spaniards were hawking and how they planned to hawk it—and that was without mentioning the disease they carried on their backs. What was the point? What was the point of it all when alien crafts known as Godwalkers could simply show up and ruin the party with a snap of a finger, most of the world’s population deader than dead?

  “I should write a desert haiku about that,” he mumbled. “You hear that, Manchester?”

  Silent as ever, Manchester rode on. The landscape seemed to split as they passed over a gorge not far from the town of Oasis, the scenery reminding him of discarded tamale husks, nearly the same golden-brown color as well, gritty and grainy where some of the meat of the tamale was left behind, a feast for the eyes.

  There were times when Sterling wondered why anyone would want to settle in a place like the Land of Entrapment, as he heard some locals refer to the state. But looking out over the horizon, New Mexico’s vastness and its stark glory, answered that question in the time it took for a vulture to drop from the sky and pick at some carrion.

  You either got it or you didn’t.

  Passing by the town of Oasis reminded Sterling of another reason he needed to visit T or C. It was time to clean himself up, and he knew that the hot springs near the Rio Grande River was the first place he should visit. There was one problem, though. Sterling was certain he didn’t have enough turquoise and silver to pay for a relaxing bath. He had chili peppers, but he didn’t know if they were something that the owners of the place would take, even if he could sweet talk Veronica at the door.

  An idea came to him, a way for Sterling to hopefully get some money. Worth a shot, he thought as he carried on, Manchester at a gallop now, a cigarette in Sterling’s mouth as he tried to make haste. And haste he made. Sterling took the exit off the highway, the cowboy necromancer reaching the outskirts of Truth or Consequences and heading straight to North Broadway Street, downtown to Ingo’s Café.

  He was extra careful as he rode into Truth or Consequences, his eye on the hill that overlooked the city center, where he had seen Killbillies before. It was suspiciously empty, and Sterling was not able to shake the tension he was feeling as he passed an old grocery store. One thing was for certain—the little city seemed locked up tight. Not even kids on bikes were out, as he had grown accustomed to seeing. Just a few stray dogs, a cat huddling in the shade, and someone closing a window. That was about it.

  Sterling came to North Broadway Street and led Manchester behind a building, where he collapsed the horse’s skeleton. Rather than leave the bones there, he sent them to his inventory list yet again. From there, and after checking to make sure everything was in order, he headed on down the street, past what was once a library, a rock shop, a florist, and even a bank. Ingo’s Café was closed for the day, and Sterling was suddenly glad that he had eaten back in Hatch, but sad to not be able to have a conversation with the German man who ran the place.

  Since the café was closed, Sterling logically headed to the tavern down the street, Kip’s usual haunt. He let out a deep breath before stepping into the place with his hand on his revolver, all but expecting the place to be packed with Killbillies. What he found instead was a single female bartender he didn’t recognize, just about as stocky as one of the Killbillies’ bigger bandits, as well as a group of men seated at the bar all hunched over their brews, cowboy hats obscuring their faces.

  Any one of them could have been Kip; Sterling decided to make it easy. “Kip? I’m back.”

  One of the men looked up, and sure enough, it was Kip, the Truth or Consequences regular and popular town drunk wearing a corduroy vest over an old button up shirt, a black bandanna tied around his neck, his hat tattered and torn as if a bobcat had gotten hold of it, cheeks cherry-red.

  “Sterling? Goddamn is it good to see you,” Kip said as he motioned Sterling forward. He said something harsh to the man seated on the stool next him and the old cowboy got up, making room for Sterling.

  “Shot of tequila and a beer,” Sterling told the bartender, the woman grunting in response. “And put it on his tab.”

  The bartender started laughing. “Kip don’t have no more credit here. He’s putting all his drinks on his tab,” she said, pointing to the man that Kip had just sent to a stool at the end of the bar.

&nbs
p; “I told you, darlin’, I’ve got money, and I’m going to get some of it to pay my tab,” Kip said to the bartender, something flashing across his eyes as a thought came to him. “In fact, this was the man I’ve been waiting for.”

  “Careful with what you’re about to say,” Sterling warned Kip.

  “Don’t you remember? I already told you about this treasure I knew about before you left for Las Cruces. Now that you’re back—and I knew you were coming back at some point, mind you—we can get that treasure and split it fifty-fifty. What do you say? I’ll pay my tab here, and you can do whatever the hell you want to do with your funds.”

  “Is that so?” Sterling asked, even though this was precisely the reason he came looking for Kip in the first place. Sterling really needed the money. Almost to prove this point to himself, he withdrew what was left from his satchel of silver and turquoise from his inventory list, and emptied it onto the counter, just a fleck of turquoise and a piece of a silver ring settling on the stained wood. “Whatever this will get me,” he told the bartender.

  “Two shots and two beers. I’m feeling generous.”

  “Mighty kind of you,” Sterling said as she began pouring up the shots of tequila.

  “Gee, you shouldn’t have,” Kip told him. “My knight in shining black armor.”

  “Who said any of this is for you?” Sterling joked. “I’m just pulling your tail. Listen here, I remember what you said about that treasure, and if you think it’s really there, well, let’s get that son of a bitch tonight.”

  “You mean it?” Kip asked as the bartender topped off their beers and set them next to their shots of tequila.

  “I sure do. I got places to go and people to see, and I need me some damn money.”

  Kip reached for his warm beer and lifted it to Sterling, the two of them clanking the mugs together. “I knew you would come through at some point. And sure, we’ll get it tonight. And it’s real, Sterling, I swear it’s out there. This ain’t no mystical treasure. I know it’s there because I spoke directly to the person that left the treasure there right before he died. Mysteriously, I might add.”