The Jessie James Archives

by Craig Gallant

  As each man processed what had happened, staring at the terrible proof of their own mortality slumped in the saddle of Randall’s Iron Horse, none of them were watching the RU-30 unit, knowing that it had been completely destroyed by Frank’s well-placed shots.

  Every one of them had forgotten Jesse’s words. Jesse had forgotten his own words. They were not facing a man.

  The robot jerked upright without warning, ghoulish as it cast around without a head. Its movements were jerky, no longer smooth or choreographed. The massive gun was still gripped in its hand, and despite the utter destruction of its eye, the weapon slid smoothly into line with its next target – Gage. The young outlaw was numbly wiping blood from his face, breathing in shallow gasps as he tried to cope with everything that had just happened.

  The robot may have been able to move again, and it may have been able to wield a weapon, but whatever drove it, whatever lent it the deadly accuracy it had shown earlier, that power was gone. The blast from the thing’s weapon took Gage’s Iron Horse in the flank, ravening crimson energy devouring the metal and unleashing the RJ-1027 stored in the vehicle’s fuel tanks. The boy’s leg, brushed by the devastating beam, was splashed away before the explosion, throwing him away like a limp rag just before his mount erupted in a ball of dazzling fire He was dashed against the side of a building over ten feet away. The bike’s destruction threw ragged bits of metal and bone in a wide circle that caused most of the approaching outlaws to dive for cover, some screaming as the bits and pieces struck home.

  “Kill it!” Jesse’s pistols rose again, almost of their own volition, and this time his shots were deadly accurate. The hyper-velocity pistols ripped off a double stream of red bolts into the rising robot’s chest. The metal man was sent flying back into the dirt, but the headless creation was not finished yet. It began to fire its terrible weapon in a wide fan of destruction, clearly lacking any rational direction. The blasts struck surrounding buildings, punching glowing holes in some, clearly starting fires inside. One collapsed in upon itself as soon as the blast struck, the roof slumping in to fan the fires within as it fell.

  The outlaws were not standing motionless now, however. They were running for cover, directing a withering rain of red darts at the writhing metal machine in the middle of the street. Most of the shots were striking the thing, on its arm or leg or body. Some, however, were sailing right over the flailing target to slap into buildings on the other side, starting more fires.

  “C’mon, you deadbeats! Beef this thing!” Two more of his men were down, their bodies twisted and torn, smoke rising from their smoldering clothes. Jesse spat again and ran across the street, keeping at an angle, both of his pistol’s tracking with the robot’s aimless movements. Each shot struck home, his arms guiding the devastation masterfully. The blasts tore through the things torso, shoulders, arms and legs, but it continued to fire, flailing around with the force of its battering.

  “Gotta be the chest, Jesse!” Frank shouted from a rooftop. The angle was too severe now for the older brother, and he could not get a shot at the monster’s body.

  Jesse nodded. He had figured as much himself. He stopped, digging the heels of his boot into the dry dirt of the street, and brought both of his arms together with a sharp clap. The pistols cracked together, the energy in their power cells reaching out towards each other with ghostly crimson tendrils. Jesse gritted his teeth, flipped the switches on each gun with his thumbs, and then sighted down the gap between the two barrels directly at the robot’s battered and dented chest. He took a slow breath and pulled the triggers as one.

  The catastrophic wave of heat and force that blasted from the two pistols was unlike anything either of them could have achieved on their own. It struck the staggered robot in the chest and lifted it bodily up into the air. The blast wave pushed a storm of dust and dirt before it, driving the robot and the collected filth of the road against the side of a building ten feet away. Every window shattered as the wall bowed beneath the pressure and the heat, then collapsed backwards into shadow.

  As the tidal wave pushed the robot into the building, it seemed to disintegrate beneath the ravaging heat of the joined pistols. The tatters of its clothing burned away in the blink of an eye, the remaining color bleached from the metal. Wires and hoses melted to black liquid streams that steamed away into the furnace heat. By the time the UR-30 disappeared into the building, the headless body was falling apart, limbs dropping from the shattered torso with a din that was lost in the raucous destruction of the wall.

  Jesse stood in the ensuing silence, breath coming in ragged gasps. His pistols were still gripped in rigid arms, pointing at the smoldering hole. The wood all around the hole was scorched and blistered, and an alarming amount of smoke was pouring back out, rising in a dark column into the sky.

  The outlaw chief shook his head to clear it, keeping his weapons at the ready but casting his eyes from side to side while he assessed the situation. The devastation that had been wrought upon the center of Diablo Canyon was staggering. The rain of fire the outlaws had called down upon the robot had shattered several buildings on the far side of the street. Each sent up a gyrating column of smoke and ash up into the sky. And despite having had its head removed, the Enforcer’s blind shots had torn through the buildings on the other side of the street. Hardly a building in the center of town, in fact, appeared to have escaped unharmed.

  There were three more bodies in the street as well, boys from Jesse’s gang who had been unable to reach cover or were unlucky enough to avoid the random shots. Jesse slowly became aware of the looks he was getting from the rest of his men, and he lowered his gun to stare back into the smoldering hole. He knew what had his men spooked, and he did not want to think about it.

  He had stood in the middle of the chaos, actually running towards the rabid metal man, while everyone else was hell-bent on running away. He had stood in the middle of the firestorm and had walked out the other side without a scratch. It had happened so often before that he almost took it for granted now. Often at night, staring into a campfire, he wondered if a person who felt no fear could even be considered to have courage anymore. He had never even spoken to Frank about these dark thoughts, and he knew that he probably never would. Shaking himself again, the street came back into focus, and with it, the sound of muffled sobs coming from behind the wreckage of Gage’s ‘Horse.

  By the time Jesse fetched up beside the overturned vehicle, a circle of his men was already standing there. Pushing through the crowd, Jesse crouched down beside Gage’s head, resting on a rolled-up coat Frank had put beneath him. The kid was a nauseating pale green color, and a growing pool of blood beneath the ragged stump of his left leg was all the evidence the outlaw chief needed to know that Gage would not be leaving Diablo Canyon alive.

  “It’s okay, kid.” Jesse grabbed a canteen from one of the other men and twisted off the cap, offering to pour a little water into Gage’s blood-rimmed mouth. “It’s not that bad. This burg’s gotta have a decent sawbones. We’ll get you looked at, set you up with a nice shiny replacement like mine.” He flourished his empty hand back and forth in front of the fluttering yes. Those eyes were fading fast, and Jesse knew it would not be much longer.

  “Randall… “ The voice was thin and whispered, pulsing strangely with the heart that labored to keep him alive.

  “That was bad, Gage, real bad.” Frank pushed a lank sweep of dirty hair from Gage’s face. “That ain’t you, though, son. You’re gonna be ridin’ again in no time.”

  “Randall… “ Gage coughed weakly, his breath speeding up, each one more shallow than the one before.

  “Gage, hobble that lip o’ yours, kid. Randall caught it, an’ he’s gone. But you’re still with us.” Jesse was at a complete loss for what to do. Most injuries in the territories were either immediately fatal, or with some good medicine, you could make it. Especially with the arrival of RJ-1027 weaponry. No one survived a gut shot long enough to suffer much anymore, not when a gut sh
ot looked like the one that had taken Randall out.

  Frank gave Jesse a look over the dying boy’s head, a question in his eyes. Jesse felt a rising surge of anger at his brother for even looking at him that way, as if there was any question, with the kid’s leg splashed ten feet across the street and him turning the color of winter grass. He gave a jerky shake of his head and offered Gage some more water.

  “Take a sip, kid, it’ll make you feel better. Ease that throat o’ yours.” Gage opened his mouth weakly, but the water that Jesse poured into it pooled there and ran down his cheek and chin. The outlaw stopped, afraid he might drown the boy, and noticed the glazed, distant cast to his eyes. Gage was gone.

  Jesse stood up in the street, offering the canteen up behind him without looking. Someone took it with a mumbled thanks and he nodded. His eyes were stuck on Gage’s face. This kid had ridden into this bug nest on a brass set, full of life and his own immortality. An immortality Jesse knew he had in part instilled. Now, because of that damned metal terror, here he was, leaking his life’s blood all over the parched main street of a town not worth a name.

  “We still don’t know what Billy’s got planned, Jesse.” Frank was standing beside him. He did not notice his brother rising from the corpse’s side. “And the townsfolk are startin’ to take notice of our little fuss out here.”

  Jesse looked up to see several faces watching the outlaws from different windows and doorways around town. They were pale and shocked at the devastation that had been visited upon their little town. He called out to a knot of his men standing by the shattered wall that marked the UR-30’s last stand.

  “You all, get some rope and truss that thing up. I want it out here faster’n a tick.” He turned back to Frank. “I want you and the Youngers to round up the brains, and then take them down to the park ‘n get whatever we need.”

  He was turning away when Frank’s hand landed on his shoulder. “What do we need, Jesse? If we’re rushin’ off half-cocked without Billy, do we even know how far down we’re gonna have to be diggin’?”

  Jesse took a deep breath, focusing with some effort. He nodded. “Ok, assume we gotta dig, through dirt not rock, and assume we gotta go down pretty deep, like maybe the height of a wagon or two, stacked atop each other, but not down to China, okay?”

  Frank nodded. “You got it, Jesse.” He walked away, calling for Cole and his brothers. The men came running from various groups scattered along the street, disappearing deeper into town.

  Jesse looked around again. “Harding, get our boys that didn’t make it and line ‘em up here in the street. Get me a count, an’ see if anyone else is hurt. I need to know if it’s just these five, or if we’re gonna be down more afore our next little shindig.”

  Harding nodded and started pointing to the men around him. The groups started to drag the dead bodies into the center of the street. That that had worn dusters were wrapped in them, those that had not were laid bare, hats over their faces. Only Gage and Randall had their Iron Horses, and so, their kit bags. Gage was wrapped up in his duster, while two white-faced boys did their level best to gather up what was left of Randall on a blanket, rolling it up into a sodden, misshapen tube of coarse wool.

  Jesse scanned the townsfolk watching from the windows and singled out an older looking gent with iron-grey hair and spectacles. He started walking towards the man, who began to fade back into the shadows of the building.

  “No, no, hey!” A hyper-velocity pistol leapt into Jesse’s hand, pointing steadily at the retreating man. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, son! You get your flannel-mouth out here on the pronto’r I end you and find someone more punctual to talk to!”

  The man’s arms flew up, head shaking from side to side in denial, as he walked towards the window. “We don’ want no trouble!” The man began. “You just—“

  “Case you ain’t been payin’ attention, grandpa, what you want ain’t of much concern today. And what we just, is only the beginning.” He gestured toward the front door of the building. Two scorched holes marked where crimson bolts had slapped into it during the gunfight. “Come on out this door here so’s we can talk like civilized folks, without this wall here between us.”

  The door creaked open almost immediately and the man came shuffling out. He was hushing someone behind him, making gestures for them to stay back inside the building.

  “’S Okay,” Jesse said, lowering the gun. “The lady folk can stay inside for now. I just got some questions, and I’ll ask ‘em, and you’ll answer ‘em like a good little burger, an’ my friend’s and I’ll be on our way in no time, and you lot not much the worse for wear.” The pistol spun once around his metal finger, slapping back up to point into the old man’s face. “You lead me a dance, though, husker, an’ this goes down a whole different trail. Comprende?”

  The man nodded, hands still in the air, eyes still wide with fear.

  “Alrighty then.” Jesse turned and gestured across the street to where a group of his men were dragging the remains of the UR-30 Enforcer through the shattered hole with a great deal of difficulty. “Now, that thing there you’re only law ‘round here?”

  The man nodded again, slowly.

  “Great. You seem like a man who knows what’s goin’ on. You a big bug here ‘bouts?”

  The man shook his head. “I – I just help the mayor –“

  Jesse wagged the barrel of his weapon in the man’s face. “No, no, no. Helpin’ the mayor, that’s pretty big, you ask me. So, you know stuff, ‘bout what’s goin’ on in town?”

  The man looked confused, but nodded again.

  “Right as rain. Then tell me, Billy the Kid been through here lately?” Jesse’s playful tone dropped away without warning, his entire body still and dangerous, his eyes boring into the man’s.

  “N-n-no! ‘Cept for that one time with Ringo an’ the Injun, we ain’t seen anyone like him’r… ‘r you… fer years!”

  Jesse leaned closer, the barrel drifting towards the man’s nose. “You sure?”

  The nodding was so vigorous this time Jesse was afraid the man’s head was going to drop off. He raised the pistol away from the frightened townsman and rested what he meant to be a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Whether it was the touch itself or the nature of the limb that made it, the man squeaked and jumped sideways slightly to escape the hand. Jesse shrugged.

  “Okay, I believe ya. So, no Billy, no more law.” The outlaw chief turned back in the direction of the distant canyon cliff. “My brother and his friends r’ lookin’ fer some engineers. They gonna find any?”

  The man nodded again. “Most of those folks who still know anythin’ stay near the park. There’s a couple saloons and a hotel still over that way.”

  Jesse nodded again and rested the pistol casually against his shoulder, giving the shaken man a grin. “Well, that oughta cover it, old son. Go ahead back inside with the ladies.”

  Jesse holstered his gun and stepped lightly back out into the street. Five pathetic bundles lay there in a row, boots to the sky. Except for Randall’s of course. God alone knew which direction his boots were pointing, inside the dark-stained blanket.

  “Who’d we lose?” He lit a quirley with one hand and flicked the match behind him into the street.

  Harding stood over the bodies with his hat in his hands, his gruff face troubled. “Well, Randall and Gage, ‘o course.” Then he nodded to the three men at the end, two thin men with hats over their faces and one much larger body wrapped in its duster. “An’ Boyd, Clay, an’ Sisco Pete.”

  Jesse spat the end of the quirley down by his boot and shook his head. “Damn, Sisco Pete, eh? That boy never could dodge worth a tinker’s promise.”

  Harding put his hat back on, nodding in reply. “No sir, Jesse.”

  Jesse took a long drag on a fresh quirley and moved towards the group of men standing nervously around the battered wreckage of the robot. The thing was wrapped in coil after coil of rope, as if the men were still afraid it might spring back to lif
e despite its having been reduced to so many tangled pieces. Jesse rolled what looked like a forearm back and forth beneath his boot as he looked down thoughtfully.

  “What you boys say to seein’ how well our friend here flies down by the canyon rim?”

  Several of the outlaws nearby chuckled nervously or muttered theirr approval, and Jesse nodded. “Okay, then, let’s see what we shall see, eh?” The men hoisted the bundle of metal parts over their heads and began to walk down the street. He looked over to Harding.

  “You mind watchin’ the store while I take out the trash?” He grinned around the smoldering hand-rolled cigarillo.

  “No, you go right ahead, boss. I don’t feel no need to get any closer to that thing or a cliff than I have to.” Harding jerked his chin in the direction of the retreating mob.

  “Okay, then. You just watch the locals, you got that? I don’t want any of’em gettin’ funny ideas while I’m gone.” He started to follow the mob but then turned.”An’ keep an eye out for Billy. I still don’ know what his game is, but he’s gonna pull somethin’ fer sure. When he does, we ain’t gonna have a lot of time to adjust.” Jesse began to walk and then turned around. “Have the men start relaying the ‘Horses down here to the recharge pads in town, we should get enough of a charge to make a clean getaway. ‘N bury Gage an’ the rest out in the flats a bit. Hurry, though, we won’t be gone long.”

  Harding nodded and Jesse followed the rest of his men. As they left the devastated center of town behind, he paid more attention to the buildings, noting again how well-maintained they were. Back when he was riding out of Diablo Canyon, the place was a pit; half the buildings in no condition to house a dog, and the folks sporting a strange mix of squirrelly fear and wild aggression. Now, even after the big fight downtown, the folks who started coming to their doors and windows looked afraid, yes, but they were also clearly angry and outraged.

  Jesse made a big show of tipping his hat to the ladies with a wide grin and nodding to the men who stood staring back with steely eyes. There was no way any of these folks could mistake what his boys were carrying down the street, or what it meant. Getting out of town before the realities started to settle on these folks was going to be important. Jesse hoped Frank was having some luck with the brains across town.