Cowboy Necromancer: Infinite Dusk

by Harmon Cooper

  “Let’s see how fast that pronghorn can go,” Sterling suggested after they had paralleled the highway for about thirty minutes. He re-situated himself on Manchester’s saddle and lifted the reins. “¡Vamos!”

  Manchester picked up speed, moving to a full gallop. At first, the Sunflower Kid didn’t take the bait. But she soon appeared at Sterling’s side, a smug smile on her face as she reached him.

  “That the fastest you can go?” he asked. “I’m traveling about half speed here. Let’s go, Pingo!”

  Sterling was just hunkering down, ready to really push his skeletal steed to the limit, when something caught his attention on the horizon. A cloud of smoke tied to a moving point. Sterling recognized almost immediately that it was a group of dirt bikes.

  “Whoa,” he told his bone horse as he slowed to a trot, Sterling pressing his tongue against the inside of his lip as he gauged what was coming in their direction. “It’s either natives, locals, or bandits,” he surmised.

  “It could just be some people passing through,” the Sunflower Kid suggested.

  “You’re right. You stay optimistic; I’ll stay suspicious until they keep moving.”

  But the dirt bikes didn’t keep on moving; instead, they turned toward Sterling and the Sunflower Kid.

  Brrrrrt! Brrrrrt!

  Sterling ducked, his hand instinctively coming to his cowboy hat as one of the cyclists fired two quick bursts in the air. He pulled his revolver, but by this point they were already nearing Sterling, two of the riders with assault rifles trained on the cowboy necromancer and the Sunflower Kid. They weren’t Killbillies, but there were bandannas covering their faces and oval sunglasses on the bridge of their nose, the two men with poorly shaved mohawks, the third rider in a motorcycle helmet that had been painted in a tribal way, the female of the group.

  Sterling almost wanted to laugh. “Y’all are making a big mistake,” he said, his revolver now pointed at the trio. “The biggest goddamn mistake you’ve made in your lives.”

  “Everything you got,” said the helmeted woman. “Silver and turquoise, charms, all of it. Drop it onto the ground and back away. What’s in your inventory list?” She hopped off her bike and approached them.

  “Are you stupid or something?” Sterling asked as he stared the woman down, seeing his own dark reflection in the visor of her motorcycle helmet. “You really can’t tell we’re mancers? A man rolls up on skeletal horse and the other one is riding a goddamn pronghorn, and you decide to stick us up? Are you out of your godforsaken minds?”

  Brrrrrt!

  One of the men fired a few more bullets into the air and re-aimed his weapon at Sterling.

  “I wish you would, I wish you fucking would,” Sterling said as he turned his attention to the gunman. “In fact, I fucking dare you. You ain’t never met someone who had more of a death wish than me,” Sterling said, noticing the man hesitate for a moment as he exchanged glances with his companion, who had his weapon trained on the Sunflower Kid. “Last chance, assholes. Why don’t you three hop back onto your little bikes and head back to wherever you came from. You won’t like how this is going to end.”

  “Don’t listen to them,” said the female rider, defiance in her voice. “He’s just trying to sound tough. All he has is a revolver. She’s not even armed.”

  “Welp, I warned you.” The three bandits had been so focused on Sterling that they hadn’t noticed plant tendrils rising from cracks in the asphalt, moving up the sides of their bodies, less than an inch away from their clothing.

  The woman unholstered her firearm and pointed it at Sterling. “Give us everything you have, now. Don’t make me say it ag—”

  Seeing someone’s skin tear away from their flesh was something that caused even Sterling to look away. The sounds, the flash of sudden shock in their eyes, and the viscera spray was something he had witnessed before. The Sunflower Kid was fast with her powers when she wanted to be, and those same vines that had been creeping up the bodies of the bandits had razor-sharp tips. As soon as her tendrils entered flesh, they expanded, able to reach the appendages in a heartbeat, the plant constructs multiplying in size and killing someone instantly. The three bloody bodies fell to the asphalt.

  “I’ll collect the weapons,” Sterling said as he wiped away a bit of blood that had splashed onto his face. “You don’t want to ride a dirt bike, do you?”

  “No, I like my pronghorn,” the Sunflower Kid said as if she hadn’t just killed three people in cold blood.

  “You’re going to need to name it.”

  “I’m still thinking about it.”

  Sterling dismounted and gathered the two automatic weapons, the handgun as well, sending them all to his inventory list. I’m starting to get quite a collection, he thought, recalling that he also had Commodore Bones’ silver-gripped pistol. They would be items he could exchange in what he hoped was a trading post in Carrizozo.

  “Lizard eat lizard world,” he mumbled as he stepped around a hunk of flesh, a vulture already taking notice, its shadow bearing down on them as it circled above. “You sure are ruthless, you know that?” he told the Sunflower Kid once they started up again, the two continuing south.

  “I didn’t want them to shoot you.”

  He smiled. “I know you didn’t. And now you see why I went to all that trouble to get you, right?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, a calmness to her posture that belied how quickly she could slay, what she had just done.

  “There ain’t nobody like you, Kid. As far as I know, you’re the only biomancer in the Southwest.”

  The two were quiet for a few minutes, riding alongside one another, cloud cover above giving them a break from the sun. Finally, she spoke again. “And you’re the only necromancer in the Southwest. That makes us sort of a Yin and Yang, doesn’t it?”

  “Yin and Yang,” Sterling said with a groan. “Now you’re sounding like Don Gasper. He says a lot of crazy shit. Calls me vaquero nigromante, cowboy necromancer. And I’m sure after I tell him what the Hopi told me, he’ll christen me Skeleton Man.”

  “He should be calling you nigromante vaquero, although it is debatable which actually serves as the adjective and which serves as the noun. Would you prefer something like nigromante agricultor de pimienta?”

  “Pepper farmer necromancer?” Sterling snorted at her suggestion. “I guess I see your point, but don’t you go around giving Gasper any ideas once you see the old bastard. And another thing—he may ask you to conjure up a few peyote buttons or toxic toads, don’t be doing none of that shit. We need Gasper as sober as we can get him. Sure, he’ll want to be high on something—and I have some schwag for him—but the last thing we need is a hallucinatory shaman. Believe you me. Let’s try to keep the shaman level-headed for the time being.”

  .Chapter Two.

  Carrizozo was more or less a one street town, better preserved than most. Brick buildings lined Central Avenue, which doubled as Route 54, ristas hanging on some of the porches. The townsfolk had chosen earthy colors for the buildings that lined the main thoroughfare, and the road was clear of any rubble or abandoned vehicles. Sterling and the Sunflower Kid had left their mounts outside of town, and as they walked, they were greeted by a pair of men with shotguns standing guard on the street, both in sombreros and wearing tan bulletproof vests, one with a bandolier across his chest.

  “What brings you to town, strangers?” the man with the bandolier asked, his mustache bushy to the point that it completely covered his mouth.

  “Looking for lodging,” Sterling told him as he carefully tipped his hat toward the town guard. “Don’t want no trouble, and ain’t planning to cause none.”

  “Where did you walk from?”

  “Mountainair,” the Sunflower Kid answered.

  He looked at her skeptically. “You walked all the way from Mountainair wearing a pair of moccasins?”

  “They are well-made moccasins,” Sterling told him. “Look, fellas, just point us in the direction of
whatever accommodations you got in this here town, and the trading post while you’re at it. We could also use a meal. We got money, and we intend to spend it.”

  “Be warned: we don’t got no peppers,” the bandoliered man admitted, a pained expression coming across his face. “Bandits saw to that.”

  “I reckon that’s something we can help with,” Sterling said, happy to finally be able to unload some of his Big Jims. Another idea came to him in that moment, the cowboy necromancer looking to the Sunflower Kid and nodding. “Actually, we could really help you with that.”

  “In that case, you’re welcome in Carrizozo, but don’t be prowling around after dark. We got patrols.”

  “These bandits that been causing you trouble, they don’t happen to be a trio of young bucks on dirt bikes led by a woman, do they?”

  “You’d be surprised how much damage them three can do. They seem to have an endless supply of ammunition, and I don’t know where they’re getting fuel for them dirt bikes.”

  “Tell you what,” Sterling told the two of them, “if you head on up this road for about an hour, you’ll find them dirt bikes. You’ll find the bodies of the three highway robbers too.”

  “You killed them?” the bandoliered man asked, not able to mask his surprise.

  “Someone had to. We weren’t about to be robbed, I can tell you that.”

  The two men standing before Sterling and the Sunflower Kid offered them nods of appreciation. “That really makes things easier around here. Them three have been terrorizing us for months. Pinche bandidos.”

  “Pinche bandidos, indeed. Y’all don’t got any Killbillies ‘round these parts, do you?”

  “Who?”

  “Good to know,” Sterling said. “Anyway, I guess we should start with a meal, and then do some trading after, probably should get a room first. It’s been a long journey, fellas.”

  “I’ll lead you around,” the bandoliered man told them after speaking quickly with his counterpart. “The name is Jimmy, by the way, but people around here call me Big Jim. You can call me either.”

  “You a pepper farmer?” Sterling asked as he joined Jimmy, who quickly sent his firearm to his inventory list.

  “I’ve been many things over the last five years, and a pepper farmer is one of them. But like I said, we don’t got none at the moment. Damn tragedy.”

  “Sounds like it.” Sterling looked across the street to see a couple of heads pop out of some windows to see what all the commotion was about. He waved at them, trying to be cordial enough.

  “Here we are,” Jimmy said as they reached a burgundy building with life-sized plastic donkeys lining the parapet and a bright turquoise door. Rather than going through the front entrance, they stepped into a courtyard with wrought iron tables and chairs, the smell of sizzling onions meeting Sterling’s nostrils.

  “Fajitas?” he asked.

  “Like I said, we don’t have peppers, but we got plenty of meat and onions.”

  “Look no further—I’ve got your pepper problem solved.” Sterling turned to a grouping of potted succulents. Behind it was an empty pot filled with dry soil. “I’ve been waiting for a couple years to do this,” Sterling said as he accessed his inventory list and produced some Chimayó seeds. He stuck them in the soil and handed the pot to the Sunflower Kid. She held the pot with both hands and looked down at the soil. A plant began to emerge, red Chimayó peppers appearing. “Say hello to one of New Mexico’s finest peppers, the Chimayó.”

  Sterling didn’t launch into details about the pepper, how it grew exclusively in Chimayó, a town not too far away from Santa Fe, or that the pepper was so highly regarded by the before people that the powdered version could go for upwards of fifty dollars per pound. The Chimayó pepper was smoky and sweet, perfect for carne adovada and posole. It was a goddamn work of art in Sterling’s book.

  Jimmy took off his sombrero and held it over his chest for a moment as he stared in awe at what she had done. “You’re Adapted?”

  “Keep it secret,” Sterling said, even though he knew that probably wouldn’t happen. They didn’t plan to stick around town long enough to make it a problem. “I got some Big Jims as well, more than I can handle. I’d be happy to donate them to the fine chefs of Carrizozo.”

  Jimmy chuckled. “There’s only one fine chef, and that’s my wife.”

  Sterling produced some of the Big Jims he had grown and placed them on the table. “Normally, I’d use these for trading. These are my own, grew them myself in Truth or Consequences. These ones here…” he equipped more peppers, ones that were clearly smaller, “came from some bandits I had to deal with near the Isleta Pueblo.”

  “Let me get my wife,” Jimmy said as he eyed the peppers, the big man trying not to lick his mustached upper lip. “She’s in business with the owner of the trading post. Everybody’s in business together here in Carrizozo.”

  He stepped away, and as soon as he did Sterling began clipping the Chimayó peppers that the Sunflower Kid had produced. He sent the first batch to his inventory list and gently asked her to do it again. “I hope you don’t consider this an abuse of your powers.”

  “I prefer making people happy than sad,” she said. The teenage girl was now seated in one of the chairs, her legs crossed beneath her. As she stared at the pot, red peppers once again started to form.

  “You must have a lot of Mana,” Sterling told her as he walked over to a rista hanging from the underside of a roof. It was plastic, but it looked nice, the hanging red peppers adding a touch of color to the whitewashed walls that surrounded the courtyard. An image of the Virgin Mary was arranged out of tile in the far corner. Sterling was impressed with how well they’d kept up the town.

  Jimmy returned with two women, both short, one with a few extra pounds and an apron on, who Sterling assumed was his wife. “This is Penelope,” he said, his hand going around his wife’s waist. “And this is the owner of the trading post, Gouyen.”

  Sterling tipped his hat to the two ladies. “Well, I got peppers to trade, ladies. I heard your town could use a few; got turquoise and silver too. I’m looking for room and board for tonight for the two of us, as well as the best charms you can conjure up. As you can see,” he said as he motioned toward the table, where more Chimayó peppers were growing out of the pot, “we got ourselves a mancer here. And she ain’t the only one.”

  “You killed the bandits?” Gouyen asked, something flashing across her eyes. Sterling couldn’t tell if it was appreciation or sadness.

  “Yes, ma’am, we sure did; I should clarify, she did.”

  The Sunflower Kid turned to the woman and offered her a soft smile.

  “You are just a teenager… A child…”

  “Don’t be fooled by the way she looks, ma’am. She may look like a teenager, but she’s seen just about as much action as any soldier still alive.”

  “And you are a mancer as well?” she asked Sterling.

  “Sure am, of the necrotic arts, if you get my drift. If you don’t, the Hopi call me Skeleton Man.”

  “There are no Hopi here,” Gouyen said. “Just a few Mescalero Apache, such as myself, and others who survived the Reset, like Big Jim and Penelope here. But I understand what you’re saying, I’m familiar with the pueblo tribes. We will work something out; I have something that may be exactly what you need charm-wise.” The woman tilted her head as she looked up at Sterling. He couldn’t help but notice the hint of defiance in her eyes, the sagging wrinkles on her face making her jowls heavy. “Something tells me that you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

  This caused the cowboy necromancer to smirk. “You ain’t the first woman to tell me that, ma’am.”

  “I reckon.”

  Jimmy’s wife, Penelope, stepped forward. “You two should eat first. I was just starting some fajitas.”

  “Our peppers are at your disposal. Make whatever you’d like, invite the town, someone get a bottle of tequila or two, let’s turn this into a little fiesta,” Sterl
ing said. “Lord knows I could use me one of them.”

  It turned out to be quite the celebration, about fifteen people or so gathering to share fajitas, chili relleno, and carne adovada served in corn tortillas, the festivities continuing on with a surprisingly hearty pozole that Penelope had whipped up while people were drinking, a few of the townsfolk later showing up on the dirt bikes that the bandits had used.

  Sterling and the Sunflower Kid had been given a pair of rooms which overlooked the courtyard. A generator running in the corner powered a string of Christmas lights overhead, people merrily celebrating the death of the three bandits and their hold on the town. There hadn’t been much talk with Gouyen, the Mescalero Apache woman who ran the trading post about the charm she had in store for Sterling, but that was mostly because she had headed out early. Sterling was certain he would be able to talk with her before they headed out tomorrow.

  The Sunflower Kid retired to her room early, just about the time that Sterling got out his bag of marijuana and rolled up a few joints for the people still gathered in the courtyard. The air soon filled with the smell of skunk, and while Sterling didn’t partake, he did end up getting a bit of a secondhand high. The chatter turned to local matters, peppered with a pair of men singing a song they had made up, the lyrics a mixture of English and Spanish.

  “What do you say to the ol’ coyote? No tengo comida, no tengo nada, fuera de aquí, no tengo nada. What do you say to the pinche bandito? I’ll shoot you bandito, no tengo nada, fuera de aquí, no tengo nada…”

  And so it went, Sterling nodding his head along to the tune, his belly feeling like it was going to burst out of the front of his shirt. He had already removed his bulletproof vest earlier to make more room for food, but that didn’t seem to help as much as he would have liked. Eventually, the cowboy necromancer stepped away from the crowd and onto the main road of the town, where he rolled a cigarette. He could see his room from his current vantage point, light flickering inside from a candle. He looked to the Sunflower Kid’s room and saw the same, indicating that she was still awake.