Duster and a Gun
Reaper
By Gregory Blackman
Published by Gregory Blackman at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Gregory Blackman
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Written in Canada.
Gregory Blackman’s Collection
*Released or Coming Soon*
The Reaper Series:
Duster and a Gun:
Reaper
The Ties That Bind
New Beginnings
Revelation
Reaper’s Dogma
The Kingdoms of Ash Series:
The Unseen
Blood Ties
Tip the Scales
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Duster and a Gun:
In 1447, history was rewritten when the Vatican was swallowed whole by the fiery pits of Hell. Demons, ghouls and other unspeakable horrors descended upon the land, preying on humanity; caught in the middle of a battle they knew nothing about. And so began a perpetual dark age, where ones worth was valued on how well they handle themselves in a fight. Pursuits such as peace and equal rights were put on hold, for larger firearms and the tightening of dictatorships. It was truly Hell on Earth, and Heaven didn’t seem to care in the least.
By the year 2015, it was a perverse world of science, where the hydrogen bomb and steam-powered locomotive exist in unison, corrupted by the will of the supernatural. The Industrial revolution is in full swing, and the only thing faster than the rise of the USA is the inner turmoil that threatens to bring it all apart from the shadows.
Reaper:
Angels fight for Heaven, demons fight for Hell and no one fights for the humans caught in the middle—except the reapers. The greatest of humanity’s offerings, they’re chosen at a young age and cultivated into instruments of vengeance. This order alone fights to keep the balance in our world, steeped in controversy, rejected by those in Heaven and condemned by the monsters in Hell. This is the story of one such reaper, Horace McKidrict, and his fight to restore what was lost from him. Neither Heaven nor Hell will be able to stop the reaper on his quest to take back what he once had, and may God have mercy on any man that dares to block his path.
In the first installment of Duster and a Gun, our hero tries to piece together the life that was stolen from him. He finds himself in the Copper State, Arizona, where death and decay plague the countryside, and humans live between uncaring angels and evil monsters. Horace needs to let go of the past and embrace the future if he wants any hope to cast back the demons and unveil the mystery residing deep within the unsuspecting population.
Warning: This eBook contains graphic imagery and coarse language.
Table of Contents
Duster and a Gun: Reaper
Gregory Blackman
01 A Calling
02 Not Like Them
03 One Good Deed
04 Deserves Another
05 Nightmares
06 Setback
07 Strangers All
08 Invitation Not Refused
09 Best Intentions
10 Led Astray
11 Getting Soft
12 Fight Another Day
13 Down And Out
14 Trust No One
15 Careful What You Ask
16 You Might Not Like the Answer
Chapter One
Duster and a Gun: Reaper
Gregory Blackman
A Calling
Reaper. It was more than just a title. It was a part of me. Or at least, it used to be. My life had been taken from me, for reasons still unknown. Not that it mattered, the world had gone to hell and I was just along for the ride. Nothing would dull the pain, although I never seemed to stop trying.
“Another!” I shouted. The empty glass crashed against the counter next to the Stetson that otherwise rests on my head. My hands ran through my tousled black hair and scratch the whiskers on my chin.
“I think you’ve had enough, chief,” replied the bartender, a fat and grisly old man. He was busting at the gut and covered in grime, the thought of a shower and new set of clothes seemingly the least of his concerns. “Last call was over an hour ago… and the bar has gotta close sometime.”
He got no response, not while I contemplated my next move.
“Are you deaf or dumb?” the bartender asked, leaning towards me. “The saloon’s fixin’ to close for the night… it’s time to pay up, pal.”
Still, he received no answer. I looked him in his bloodshot eyes, pulled out a smoke, struck a match and felt the soothing release that I so desperately craved. “There are still other patrons in the bar. Two, but who’s really counting? So, like I said before, I’ll have another.”
Three silver coins clattered on the bar, produced from the deep pockets of my walnut-colored duster. Three sparkles could be seen in the bartender’s eyes, now glittering with greed. To the bartender, I had overpaid. I didn’t share that opinion.
“Hey Ernie… and you, too, Chuck… get the Hell outta my goddamn bar!” shouted the bartender as he slammed his fist down on the bar. He turned to look at me, the glitter in his eyes now replaced with a foreboding darkness. “You’ll get one more drink and then you pack it up for the night.”
The bartender pulled a filthy bottle from underneath the bar and filled my glass. It was awful, the thought of another sip made me gag. Still, it was better than feeling—for in my line of work emotions can get a guy killed.
I waited for Chuck and Ernie to make their way out of the saloon. Some things needed to be left unseen from the eyes of the people I once vowed to protect.
“I want to show you something, old man,” I said, “something very dear to my heart.”
I reached into my pocket and placed a worn out photo on the bar. It was faded and the bartender looked closely. He turned it over and read the words out loud, words that still stung to this day, “It said, ‘Rose and Marley, always and forever’… ‘Eh, so what’s this to me?”
The photo was of a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair and a hypnotizing smile. Beside the woman sat a young girl, a pretty southern belle, around the age of ten. She was a spitting image of her mother.
“I was hoping that you could tell me,” I replied. I took a drag from the cigarette, sucking in deep and blowing it directly into the bartender’s face. I wanted to goad him into making a mistake. I knew his true face, and that only one of us would be walking away from the bar tonight.
“I can remember everything about my life, where I was born, my childhood and my first day on the job. What I can’t remember, is the last two years, or who these people are. The girl is clearly much older than two… and yet… nothing. Not one single memory of a child stirs in my head.”
“Yer breaking my heart,” the bartender replied sarcastically. “What makes you think that I’d know anything about them? I’m just a man runnin’ a bar.”
“Exactly,” I said. “People come to you with their problems. Like the problem you’re in tonight—.”
“Hey now, don’t get any ideas, slick,” said the bartender as he leaned forward, a grin stretched from ear to ear. “You wouldn’t lik
e the results.”
Too late, I pressed the barrel of my revolver to his chin. I refused to blink as I knew full well the bartender would break me in half if I flinched, even in the slightest.
“I know what you are… and you’re no man. Nothing so depraved of soul could ever call themselves one of Adam’s descendants. I’m looking for a feeding den… the closest one to be exact.”
The bartender’s laughter echoed through the bar, defiant to the end. I knew his kind well, and the one thing we both respected and feared was power. He didn’t take his eyes off me, as he tried to search into my soul and understand the man I truly was. “I’ve never heard of any such place. I think you’re mistaken, pal… painfully mistaken.”
“Cut the bullshit,” I said, “I’m not about to dispute their existence with you. Either you tell me what I need to know, or I’ll relieve you of this life.”
“You’ve got balls, kid,” the bartender laughed. “I like that. I’ll tell you what you need to know, but first, I’m just dying to know how such a miserable little shit like you has come here in search of this den. Surely you can’t be so willing to die?”
“I’m the one asking questions here,” I answered, dropping the cigarette to the floor; after all, common courtesy had pretty much flown out the window at this point.
“Indulge me,” the bartender said with a smile. He pressed his chin against the barrel of the gun. He was taunting me, daring me to pull the trigger. “What drives you to the feeding dens, cowboy?”
“I’m chasing someone,” I replied; nothing more and nothing less. So long as I could get the bartender interested, I could keep pulling his strings. He had something that I needed, something vital to my mission and regaining what had been lost to me.
“What could you possibly be chasing that would lead you to a place such as the feeding dens?” the bartender asked. “Not even I would dare go to a place like that. You’ve got a death wish, pal, and I’m not getting in the way of that.”
How could I tell him of the monster that I stalked without giving myself away in the process? No men hunted this creature known as the Abaddon, of that we both were well aware. With skin of dark crimson and fiery eyes straight from the pits of Hell, it was a monster not to be taken lightly. Its eight foot tall frame was matched in audacity only by its leathery wings and weight, which measured in the tons.
“Something that’s taken everything from me,” I replied. “One cut from the same cloth as you, but unlike you, the monster I seek contributes nothing of value, pestilence and destruction are all this monster knows.”
The bartender’s eyes widened and he turned deathly pale in the blink of an eye. I had struck a nerve. He knew something, and I was going to make sure he told me. I cocked the hammer of my gun and pushed harder on the bartender’s bulbous chin.
“Who are you?” the bartender grimaced.
“I’m just a man,” I replied as a smile crept across my weary face. “…An average, run-of-the-mill man… unlike you.”
The bartender made no move to dislodge the gun, instead he seemed to revel in the anarchy that was about to ensue. He shed not one tear, nor prayed to any god, for he knew that no god of his would come to his rescue.
“Now who’s the one piling on the bullshit, pal?” inquired the bartender as he slowly reached for a pack of cigarettes. “I don’t have a clue who you think you are… and you seem to know an awful lot about me.”
“Give me the location of the feeding den and we can talk about that in greater detail,” I said.
The bartender reached underneath the counter and fumbled for something. It took everything I had left not to pull the trigger in anticipation of an attack, but I managed to hold my composure, for the reward was worth the risk.
A scroll dropped to the bar, bound tightly with leather, it looked ancient. With my free hand I tugged on the leather binding. He was telling the truth, the map had the locations of all the feeding dens within a thousand miles of here. This information was not readily available to my kind and the demons would be not pleased to learn I had it.
“What would the others say about this?” I asked. “Likely they would have your head or worse. I don’t have to remind you of the Charleston culling ten years back, do I?”
“Are you going to tell them?” the bartender questioned. “I think not. Besides, you’ll be dead long before then, and I’ll scoop it back up from your freshly rotten corpse. You’re a dead man, traveler, and you don’t even know it.”
He barked a sick laugh, spewing spit from his repulsive mouth, “I’ve noticed that your gun is still pressed to my chin… even after you got the information.” the bartender said as he settled back down. “I can’t be killed by any normal gun. So you might as well just put it down… before that pretty face of yours gets real ugly, real fast. What is your name?”
“Horace,” I replied. “My name’s Horace McKidrict and this isn’t a normal gun—.”
“No… you can’t be him! He’s dead!” the bartender bellowed, his eyes were ablaze with hellfire. His face began to distort and rows of horns protruded down his back, his skin the color of blood. The only feature he retained was his smile—the same devilish grin that lured many to temptation. He was a demon of ignorance and greed, and his kind was plentiful in this forsaken world of ours. “You can’t have it! Give me back that damned scroll! I’ll see you in Hell—!”
Dead men can’t pull triggers, something the demon figured out the hard way with a blast from point blank range. It exited out the back of his head with thunderous percussion. The demon dropped to the floor, but the man lay in his place. Such was the rule between Heaven and Hell. None shall know of their direct involvement. They were always in the shadows, both demon and angel alike.
I reached over the counter and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. After a long overdue swig, I holstered my weapon, tucked the scroll into my duster and retrieved my coins. After all, he wouldn’t need them. I steadied myself; something not easily accomplished after a night drinking and walked out the door. No doubt the locals heard the gunfire and would soon be upon me. I needed distance—and fast.
I was far too drunk. If I was lucky, it’d be awhile before someone stumbles across the body, but if there was one thing in this world that I wasn’t, it’s a lucky man. But there she was, already saddled and itching for a run, practically calling for someone to rescue her.
“That’s a good girl,” I said, stroking the majestic creature’s mane. “I’m going to call you Betsy. Would ya like that, huh, girl?”
I untied the fiery red mustang from the stable beside the saloon and with but a whisper, the mighty beast took off with me on her, out into the dark town. We were kindred spirits, Betsy and I, or at least my booze soaked mind was leading me to believe. She understood me, and in a world such as this, someone like that doesn’t come around too often
She was fast and soon the boundless plains sped by. We were headed for the nearest feeding den and the monster I sought. Maybe there I would find some answers.
Chapter Two
Duster and a Gun: Reaper
Gregory Blackman
Not Like Them
It was a desolate but beautiful land although that beauty seemed to be disappearing at an alarming rate. The intense sun that hung low was hidden today, masked behind dark grey cloud fingers that raked across the sky and converged on the wasteland before me.
The mountain landscape was littered with mines of every design. Gold, silver, nickel, copper—you name it—they extracted it from the ground. The Industrial Revolution, the people called it. It was revolting to me. I couldn’t even remember the last time I saw an automobile in the southern states, yet for those that traveled north, to the green states, they’d find a land full of them. There was a growing divide in this country, one getting larger by the day. Those with power and money used it to suppress, successfully, those they viewed as beneath them. And everyone was beneath them.
The same evil still stalked the land as in the old days,
only now it had become harder to tell the dark from the light. The monsters cleansed from this realm by those of my order were replaced by men, more devious and veiled than those before.
I rode Betsy along dusty trails over the plains, guided by the scroll towards the last known location of the monster I sought. It was a perilous journey, out of the reach of the common man, to the feeding den perched in the mountains that overlooked the Arizona desert.
The Abaddon I hunted was a nasty creature, born of the hellfire that raged through Hell’s final circle. The beast towered above men and its teeth rivaled the size of its claws, serrated and razor-sharp. The monster’s broad wingspan allowed it to cast a shadow over its prey—the children of God, driven like lambs to the slaughter, their screams nothing more than a symphony of despair.
It could rip a man to shreds in seconds, a village in minutes and, if left unchecked, eventually the entire world. Very few even knew of its existence and even less could stop it. It was the perfect killing machine, bred to destroy and pillage to its heart content.
I’d been hunting the creature since I first awoke from my two year blackout. I had no idea if it had the knowledge I sought, but it was somehow involved with my amnesia and I needed to press on and seize this opportunity.
It must’ve been a hundred miles before fatigue got the better of me. I could tell Betsy needed a rest, too, and decided to catch a couple hours sleep. Where I was headed, I’d need all my wits about me because walking through the doors of a feeding den was a good way to cut one’s life short.
The dream world was not a friendly place for me; filled with strangers that would do me harm and every life I had taken, and done so for reasons other than survival. It mattered not if those that were slain were not of this world. I never asked for this war, yet I continued with it.
Reaper (#1, Duster and a Gun) Page 1