Cowboy Necromancer: Infinite Dusk

by Harmon Cooper

  “Is that right? And you said, if I recall, that it’s guarded by an amalgamation, right?”

  “Yeah, there’s one of them armadillo ones that likes to hang out in that area, about a mile and a half from here, not far from the Rio Grande. There’s this old yacht, you see, and the treasure is hidden in the hull. If we’re careful, we may be able to get in and get out of the area without having to deal with the amalgamation.”

  “Not likely,” Sterling said as he took a sip of beer. There was a hint of spice to it, and Sterling glanced up at the bartender who was eagerly awaiting his thoughts on the brew.

  “We tried something new,” she explained. “Added a bit of pepper to it to give it a kick.”

  “I’m going to be brutally honest: if it was colder, I would like it, but it’s a little off-putting, and this is coming from a man who worships peppers,” Sterling told her.

  She frowned. “That’s all we got.”

  “Shee-it,” Sterling said as he put the beer down and went for the shot of tequila instead. He threw the shot back and tapped the shot glass on the bar.

  “You can have the other shot too,” Kip told him. “I’ve had enough that I can’t taste the pepper in the beer anymore.”

  Sterling nodded and took another shot of tequila, his throat burning as it spiraled down his gullet. “That’s better.”

  “So, are you going to tell me what happened or what?” Kip asked. “Did you find Don Gasper’s crazy ass?”

  Sterling snorted.

  “Ha! I’ll bet you did.”

  “Yup, and that crazy old kook was up to just about what you would expect him to be up to, covered in blood and leading a shaman ritual, fighting with some witches from White Sands. You know, the usual.”

  “So you’re telling me it was a shitshow?”

  “A shitshow the likes of which Don Gasper excels at putting on. I got what I needed though, which is why I am heading north.”

  “And you believe whatever vision he had?”

  “He didn’t have no vision,” Sterling said, not wanting to get into what it was like to have a coyote speak to him. “But I got the message, we’ll leave it at that. I know he may be a pain in the ass, but Gasper really is the best in the business. Let’s just say it was quite the trip, and that’s not to mention getting captured by the Killbillies, crucified, having to fight my way out of their camp, and getting ambushed by a pyromancer later on.”

  “Damn bastards.”

  “Speaking of the Killbillies, where the hell are they? Why aren’t they sitting up there on their hill like kings of the castle?”

  “They done left,” Kip said. “Things looked like they were heating up down there in Las Cruces, so them boys all rolled on outta here. Not a moment too soon either. They were starting to stink up the place, harassing women and whatnot, raising taxes. Good goddamn riddance, if you ask me.” Kip looked Sterling over and nodded. “So tonight, you and me, this treasure?”

  “I already told you yes.”

  “Just making sure you hadn’t changed your mind. We’ll get the treasure, split it, and you can be on your way.”

  “Got to hit the Hot Spring first, I mean in the morning,” Sterling said. “But I think I may need more fundage to do that.”

  “Not a bad idea; ain’t nothing like a soak.” Kip whistled and the bartender came back over to them. “Two more shots, darlin’, and don’t ask me about no tabs, dammit. Put it on someone else’s tab, or open mine up for one more night. I promise I’ll have the money in the morning. You’ve got my word.”

  By the time they left the brewery, Sterling and Kip were half-drunk, having worked up quite the bar tab. They headed in the direction of Caballo Cone, which towered nearly two thousand feet above the city of Truth or Consequences, and which the locals called Turtleback Mountain. Sterling had read about the mountain in his travel guide. There wasn’t a lot of information about Truth or Consequences in the guide, aside from information about the hot springs there and Elephant Butte State Park, but it did mention the name of the mountain, and what the locals had rechristened it because of its resemblance to a turtle. At least some people thought it looked like a turtle. Sterling couldn’t see the turtleback part of the mountain’s features himself, no matter what angle he tried to view it from.

  He rolled a cigarette and handed it to Kip, and proceeded to roll one for himself as well, hoping that the nicotine would help sober him up. “How much treasure are we talking about here?” Sterling asked as he lit his friend’s cigarette. It was a question he had probably asked Kip over the last two hours at some point, but couldn’t recall now, his recollection blurred.

  “I already told you it’s a lot. Like I said, the treasure is in the hull of an old yacht somewhere out there toward Turtleback, right along the Rio Grande.”

  “Hold up, did you say a yacht?” Sterling ashed his cigarette, its tip glowing red. “Why would a yacht be all the way the hell out here? Ain’t no ocean around here.”

  “Beats the hell out of me,” Kip said. “All I know is that there’s a big ol’ boat stranded somewhere near the Rio Grande, its hull full of treasure. I’m talking enough turquoise and silver to get you to Las Vegas.”

  “Which Las Vegas?” Sterling asked with a snort.

  “Damn sure not the one in New Mexico, I can guarantee you that.”

  “I’ve been through Las Vegas, New Mexico, before,” Sterling said. “They got some good green chili burgers there, real damn good…”

  “Sounds to me like someone wrote a recipe down before the Reset.”

  “Sounds like.”

  “About this here mission: stop worrying about my intel on this treasure. I wouldn’t lead you all the way out here for nothing,” Kip said as he turned to Sterling, the moon above adding just enough light to the man’s face that Sterling could make out some of his wrinkles, which were intermixed with splattering of scars. Kip had an ugly mug, one that had been punched, kicked, and stabbed at far too many times. His face had the telltale signs of an alcoholic, his nose big and covered in tiny craters, dark lines beneath his eyes, his skin a little leathered.

  “I know you wouldn’t,” Sterling said as both men took long drags off their cigarettes.

  “The treasure is out there, amigo, and we’re going to get it. Split it. I just need you to handle the amalgamation.”

  “Oh, yeah? What are you fixing to handle?”

  “I’m the one with the treasure map,” Kip said as he tapped his finger on his temple. “The brains of the operation.” He too wore a cowboy hat, but the brim of his was much smaller than Sterling’s, Kip’s hat barely able to cast a shadow over his eyes when the sun was out. There was a feather sticking out of the side of the hat, one with splashes of black and brown across it, just about as dapper as the man got.

  “Brains? Alright then, boss,” Sterling said as he motioned Kip forward. “Lead the way.”

  “Of all the things the Godwalkers had to bequeath to us, why did they make amalgamations?” Kip asked. “This one in particular is a damn tank, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Shee-it,” Sterling mumbled. He knew that the only way to kill one of these particular amalgamations—a bison-sized armadillo with a lizard skull for a head—was to get it on its back, not unlike the way he’d dealt with the scorpion amalgamation. The fact that it was sticking to this area more or less explained why no one else had gotten the treasure in this supposed yacht, so that part of Kip’s story checked out. Still, something felt off. Could there really be a yacht out here in the desert? Sterling eyed his friend for a moment, wondering if it was all hyperbole.

  “What’s that look mean?”

  “I swear, before I left for Las Cruces, you were saying it was a ship that had the treasure in it, and now it’s a yacht? Or maybe it was earlier tonight. At some point, you said it was a ship.”

  “I never said it was no ship. I said it was a yacht. Or maybe I said it was a ship, who knows? Maybe it’s like how some people spell ‘chile’ differently
. You know what I’m talking about. Locals using an ‘e’ at the end, some books and whatnot using an ‘i’ to spell ‘chili.’ Same with yacht and ship.”

  “A chile and a chili just have a spelling difference, and it don’t make no difference which one you use. A ship and a yacht have a size difference. There’s a difference between a regular scorpion, and an amalgamation, right?” Sterling asked rhetorically. “All I’m saying is this: I’m still not convinced there’s a yacht in the middle of nowhere outside of T or C—”

  “—Not far from the Rio Grande and in the afternoon shade of Turtleback Mountain, yep, a yacht,” Kip said. “Look, I ain’t Don Gasper here; I didn’t have no vision. I heard this from the man who put that treasure in the hull of that ship his damn self, straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. What I’m trying to say is that I’m coming out here because you told me it’s out here, and I trust you, even if I may later come to regret that statement. I got plenty on my plate, Kip, so don’t be sending me on some bootless errand.”

  Kip laughed. “Bootless errand? Ain’t heard that one before. Where did you pick that one up?”

  “I guess it was something people said before the Reset,” Sterling told him with a shrug.

  Mention of the Reset made Sterling think of the other thing he had learned in Las Cruces, the part he hadn’t revealed to Judge nor Kip. Not only did Sterling have a family, as evinced by the picture in his wallet, but he now knew his former wife’s name, Isabella. What was his son’s name? What really happened that day that the entire world changed, the day that Sterling had lost his family and all his memories?

  “We’re getting closer,” Kip whispered, interrupting his drunken thoughts.

  “Before you run off and try to get yourself a treasure, I’m going to need your help,” Sterling told him.

  “I thought you said you’d dealt with one before.”

  “You already know I did,” Sterling told him. “About a year and a half ago, one of these armadillo amalgamations came a bit too close to my property. I could see the damn thing from a mile away, and as it approached, I could have sworn it was a mountain moving toward me the way it blotted out the sun.”

  “That’s poetic.”

  “I digress,” Sterling said. “The only way to kill one of these things is to flip the son of a bitch over and get to its soft side, just like the scorpion ones, but without the pincers and stinger. It’ll put up a fight, and as soon as you flip it it’s going to try to roll back up. Sharp teeth too.”

  “But you did it yourself, right? When it attacked your farm?”

  “Hell, I had to,” Sterling said.

  “None of your skeletons helped you?”

  “Okay, few of them helped me.”

  “Why don’t we get some of them?” Kip asked.

  “Well, unless you got some skeletons in your inventory list—which is different from having skeletons in your closet, heh—it’s going to be just you and me. Then again, I suppose I could use Manchester as a distraction. Them armadillos can be fast.”

  “Maybe we can find some skeletons around here,” Kip said as he took a quick look at their current location, the two standing out in the darkness, the air cool, the moon now partially covered by a cloud.

  “Well, maybe we could, but we don’t know what we’ll turn up. And my power to find these things, these dead things buried in the ground, only has a limited circumference. If that makes any sense to you. Plus, if they’re too deep, I can’t really get to them. The soil needs to be loose, or they need to be near the top layer.”

  “So what you’re saying is we should have searched on the way over here, and possibly stopped by the cemetery.”

  “Damn straight, and if we’re getting into a conversation on hindsight, we probably shouldn’t have had so much tequila,” Sterling said, a wry grin taking shape on his face.

  “Can’t argue there. Hey, before we do this, you don’t happen to have something for me to drink in your list, do you?”

  “Water or something else?”

  “I’ll fight any man from a simple asshole to the most powerful Adapted this side of the Texas border, but I ain’t never taken on an amalgamation before.”

  “Little late to get cold feet if you want that treasure. And you never answered my question.”

  “Something else.”

  “I figured you’d say that,” Sterling said as he grabbed his bottle of tequila from his inventory list. It was about half full, and after taking a swig from it, he handed it off to Kip. “Now leave some for later,” he said as he watched Kip start to chug from the bottle.

  Kip nearly finished the bottle, but stopped at the last pull. He handed the tequila bottle back to Sterling and wiped his lips with his sleeve. “We’re about to be in the money,” Kip said on the tail end of a belch. “You’ll be able to get yourself a new bottle.”

  “I ain’t eyeing a bottle,” Sterling said. What he wanted was money for food and charms. He needed to get more Technique Points with each level up, and if he found something that could give him more Class Proficiency bonuses, he’d really be in luck.

  Kip rubbed his hands together, psyching himself up. “Well, whatever it is you want, you’re about to have it. Just need to kill us an amalgamation first.”

  Darkness enveloped the two men as they crept deeper into the night, Sterling holding his sickle-sword, Kip with a pair of work gloves on his hands. Manchester walked alongside Sterling. It was cold out, so any of the insects that would be out making noises had decided to keep to their burrows that night. The moon provided enough light for Sterling to see where they were heading without equipping his flashlight, the landscape partially illuminated in swaths of silvery blue.

  Sterling sensed movement, big movement. He swatted Manchester on his bony ass. The horse took off running, and as soon as it did, a large bulb of blackness moved in his direction.

  “Here we go,” Kip said, his teeth chattering. “You don’t mind if I take another swig of that tequila you got there, do you?”

  “Kip, it’s showtime. You tip that goddamn armadillo over and let me do the rest. Just as planned. Really throw your shoulder into it, like he’s the toughest son of a bitch that has ever come through T or C and he’s just insulted your woman.”

  “Heh, which one?”

  “Ain’t nobody need to die tonight aside from that amalgamation. You’ve got this, amigo.”

  “Shit, alright,” Kip said, steeling himself with a deep breath in. He took off running toward the monster, Sterling following close behind him.

  The armadillo amalgamations were territorial, unlike their smaller brothers back before the Reset. They were strong, armored, their lizard skulls filled with sharp teeth, and had grown long tails with a spiked club on the end of it. Sterling had seen firsthand what happened when someone got hit by the armadillo’s tail. It was instant death, the wound making Sterling have to look away for once, which was unusual for a man who had seen so many fatal wounds.

  Ain’t nobody going to die tonight, he reminded himself as he followed closely behind Kip.

  They drew nearer to the giant armadillo. It was about eight feet long from head to tail, the bottom of its belly to the top of its shell about seven feet high. The only reason Kip was going to be able to knock it over was because of the Strength given to him through the Stat Points he had pumped up since the Reset. The creature would have crushed a normal man.

  The armadillo was wicked fast, and it had nearly reached Manchester when Kip slammed into its side. Kip was able to push the armadillo off its feet, but he didn’t do what Sterling had told him, which was to lock onto its legs and try to lift the amalgamation. He was too scared by the sheer size of the creature, and he paid for this as the amalgamation whipped around, narrowly missing Kip with the spiked end on the tip of its tail. The enormous armadillo prepared to cut Kip down, the tough town drunk practically frozen in his tracks.

  “Kip, watch out!”


  Sterling surged forward and slammed his body into the side of the armadillo, this time doing as he had instructed Kip, his hands coming beneath its body, Sterling calling every ounce of strength he had to flip it over. The only thing was, to do so he had to lose his sickle-sword, Sterling dropping it rather than sending it back to its sheath. That would have been the smart move, but Sterling was drunk, and he wasn’t thinking straight, especially after the adrenaline hit his system.

  He managed to get the armadillo onto its back, but he didn’t have his weapon around when he did. This left Sterling scrambling to retrieve his sword, which was easy enough to find because of the turquoise glow it put off after he touched it. He retrieved his blade, and turned back to the armadillo, only to find that the enormous beast was already righting itself.

  “Dammit, Kip!” Sterling shouted as the ground shook, the amalgamation back on its feet. “I told you to pick it up, not just run your damn shoulder into it!”

  “I got it!” Kip said, charging at the armadillo again. “I got the son of a bitch!”

  Sterling took this as a sign that he should be the one that distracted the armadillo. He started whistling and waving his arms around, spewing forth a litany of curse words in Spanglish to get the amalgamation’s attention. The thing was practically snorting smoke by the time it reached him, only to be broadsided by Kip, the man completely flipping the enormous beast onto its back with a roar that echoed across the desert.

  Sterling took this as a sign to get to cleaving.

  He hopped on top of the armadillo and immediately drove his blade in, Sterling cutting into its underside again and again as the creature screeched, his muscles burning as he continued to slaughter it. It tried to hit him with its tail, but Kip took care of that by holding it down now with all of his weight, his boots and the armadillo’s scaly body kicking up dust while Sterling pummeled the beast.