Guns of Seneca 6 Box Set Collected Saga (Chambers 1-4)

by Bernard Schaffer

  "I don't doubt that," Bart said. "I can't say I was surprised either. I don't think being Sheriff is everything he expected it to be. There's a whole lot of hand-holding these people need, and Jem isn't quite the type to do that."

  "There's a certain amount," Claire said, "but there's also a time to tell people to stop being babies and figure it out for themselves. Jem didn't say too much about it to me, though. Let's face it, he ain't got a great track record for staying in one place for too long."

  "That's true. The shame of it is that most people really responded to a Clayton being back in the office. It gave them hope, and that's something we sorely need right now, after all that's happened."

  "Well, sometimes nostalgia's a dangerous thing," Claire said. "Hoping and wishing something were so don't make it that way, Bart. I'm sure there's plenty of people out there who can do the job and they don't have to be named Clayton to do it."

  "But what if I was one of those people, Claire? Our two families have a connection that goes back before we were born. It's always been a good team, and I felt like I could do this job as long as I had one of you at my side."

  Claire shrugged and said, "I'll talk to him when I see him if that's what you're asking."

  "I'm not talking about him," Bart said. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out Sam Clayton's old, worn Sheriff's star. He held it up, "What do you say?"

  Claire's eyes widened, "What do you mean?"

  "It was McParlan who suggested it. He said 'That girl's got the stuff.' I think that's a pretty big compliment from him." Bart smiled weakly and said, "I could use the help, Claire. You've always been here, never complaining no matter what life threw at you. You handled that Harpe bastard like nobody else could have. I'd be real, real grateful if you'd take the job and proud to have you wear this badge. What do you say?"

  Claire went down the steps slowly, staring at the badge like she'd never seen it before, like there were strange words written across it that were only now making sense. She took it from Bart and ran her fingers over the surface reverently. "I don't even have a pistol," Claire said.

  Bart reached into his saddlebag and removed a holster with a black-handled weapon seated inside. "McParlan thought as much, so he is lending you his Balrog. He said it's standard PNOA issue to female agents and old fogies like him."

  "When would I start?" Claire said.

  "Tomorrow. Unless you want the town to fall into complete chaos when people realize there's no law. Give it a few days and you'll get to handle a full-scale riot as your first official act."

  She slowly pinned the badge to her shirt lapel and stood there looking down at it for a moment. "Is this just a temporary job until the real thing gets back?"

  "I'm sure we'll have to discuss it with Jem, being that he's expecting to resume his duties. That's only fair. But if you like the job, maybe you two can work something out. Sam had my daddy watching his back. I'm sure Jem could use someone he trusts watching his."

  Claire looked up at the Mayor and said, "I think you mean I could use Jem to watch mine."

  Bart Masters chuckled and shook his head, "I think I like you in this position already, Claire."

  Frank Miller rolled himself forward to the edge of the porch and said, "That's Sheriff Miller to you, mister."

  IMMACULATE Killers

  Chamber 4 of the Guns of Seneca 6 Saga

  Bernard Schaffer

  CONTENTS

  1. True Grit

  2. Tom Masters' Long Ride

  3. Godless Whores

  4. An Excerpt from The First Settlers - Founding Seneca Prime

  5. The Ghost of Seneca Prime

  6. The Silk Purse

  7. Happiness is a Warm Gun (Bang, Bang, Shoot, Shoot)

  8. Beside You In Time

  9. Writing This to Say, in a Gentle Way, Thank You, but No

  1. True Grit

  The fields along Pioneer Way glowed brighter than daylight, brighter than staring straight at the sun, hot enough to make Tom Masters shield his eyes. The dry grass went up like it was soaked in gasoline and rushed toward the nearest homes in runaway waves of flame.

  Tom opened his mouth to try and holler for people to run for their lives but nothing came out. The fire roared so close it felt like his skin was melting. His voice wilted in the smoke and he stared, horrified, at the rising wall of flames.

  A little girl no older than five staggered out of one of the houses, screaming for help. Tom covered his eyes to avoid watching her get consumed by fire when a dark shadow cut a line across the field, charging toward her. She kept wailing, even as Sheriff Sam Clayton's destrier crashed through the flames and he bent down to snatch her up. The wooden porch struts cracked and the home's oil tank blew up with a tremendous whoomp, but Sam and the girl were already gone. Tom's ears rang like bells as he staggered back, choking on the thick smoke, mesmerized by the writhing shapes the fire made like some sort of gaseous beast. He willed himself to run but could not manage to stop looking at it.

  It was something he'd seen before. Something that felt like it had been waiting for him for years. The light and heat and the horror of it all made his legs go numb and he thought he might just flop to the ground to get fried up like a fish.

  Another scream, this time behind him, swooping in for the kill like some predatory bird that screamed loud enough to stun its prey right before eviscerating it. Tom turned to see the Beothuk savage racing at him, moving so fast the small axe above his head whistled through the air. The Beothuk's war paint dripped black and red streaks from his face. Tom's feet were melted to the ground, but instinct and training took over and forced him to raise his rifle. He looked downrange from the end of the barrel and lined it up with the warrior's chest. The rifle barked, sending the Beothuk spinning a full three hundred and sixty degrees in the air like a circus performer.

  "Son of a bitch!" Tom shouted. He cocked the rifle lever and fired again at the Beothuk's body, blasting a hole in the back of his skull. "Bastard scum-sucking piece of trash God damn heathen son of a whore!" He cocked and fired again and again.

  A firm hand came up behind Tom and knocked his rifle into the dirt. Sam shook Tom forcefully by the arm, "Save your ammo. He's dead."

  "Get your damn hands off me! They're burnin' everything up!"

  Sam grabbed Tom by the collar and lifted the smaller man up on his toes, "Listen to me! Pull your shit together or we're all gonna die. That means Bart, and Martha, and Jem, and Claire if we don't work together. You can't fall apart on me, you son of a bitch. Not now."

  "It's all on fire, Sam. Just like it was before," Tom whispered. "The fire's comin'."

  Sam pushed him away and said, "No it ain't, Tom. Those two houses have nothing but dirt and rock behind them. The fields are about burnt out. Erazamus Willow told me some of our people got the rest of these itjin bastards pinned down in front of the Proud Lady. I say we go finish this fight. You comin'?"

  Tom blinked rapidly and tried to breathe. "You get that little girl out?"

  Sam nodded and said, "She got banged up a little, but she'll live."

  "Where were her parents at?"

  "She was the only one I saw." He looked around, "Where's Buck?"

  "Dead. One of those bastards stuck an arrow through its neck."

  "Come on then, you can ride with me."

  Tom climbed up behind Sam and grabbed onto the rear of the saddle, trying to keep steady on the destrier's massive hips. "How many are pinned down in the square?" Tom said.

  "Maybe a half dozen."

  Tom looked back at the burning wreckage of the houses, now completely consumed by flames. "I hope they were sleeping when it happened."

  "I didn't hear any screams," Sam said. "Else I would've gone back."

  Tom grabbed the back of Sam's gun belt as they took off and shouted, "There better be some left for us by the time we get there, if I gotta ride sitting behind you like this."

  Sam grunted as he stuck his heels into the destrier's ribs, "J
ust hold on and try not to get any ideas, sunshine."

  "Me? You the one ain't been around a woman in five years."

  Sam lowered his head into the wind to let his hat deflect the swarm of dust kicking up from the destrier's heels. "Well, rest assured your ugly mug won't be the one to make me change allegiances."

  They stopped talking at the sight of something dark and smoldering on the road ahead. "The hell is that?" Tom said.

  Sam slowed his ride to look at the curled up body, blackened like a piece of charred chicken. "Ben the Barber. He's got four kids."

  "God damn savages," Tom muttered.

  Gunshots cracked the air as they came around the back of the Proud Lady, lighting up the sky ahead of them like fireworks. Sam unslung the shoulder strap for his rifle and passed it back to Tom, "You take this. I'm gonna make a run for the security fence to deactivate it."

  "The hell you gonna do that for?"

  "We fence them in and it's a fight to the death. Give 'em an exit and hope they're smart enough to use it."

  Tom pulled the rifle's bolt back to charge the rounds inside it, making them hum and vibrate with power. Lights flickered along the dark metal frame and Tom switched the selector from single-fire to automatic.

  The destrier slowed down enough for Tom to hop off. The two men looked at one another for a moment before Sam said, "You remember that promise we made when Betsy died, right?"

  Tom racked an electrified round into the rifle's chamber and said, "Ain't gonna be no need for that, boss. You just get that gate open."

  Sam's destrier kicked up into air at the sound of another volley of gunshots. Sam grabbed onto the reins and said, "But you remember, right? Say you remember, Tom."

  "I remember."

  "All right. Now give 'em hell."

  Tom braced himself against the back wall and held his breath, trying to hear where the shots were coming from. It sounded like gunfire was coming from the rooftops. Tom took off his hat and peeked out, imagining what a bullet would feel like smashing through his forehead and center-punching his brain. He squinted to see better and caught the flicker of a bare-chested Beothuk perched on the roof of the guard shack, directly overlooking the place Sam Clayton and his destrier were about to arrive.

  Tom raised the rifle and peered into the scope, trying to get a fix on the itjin. The scope's image flickered and turned murky green, but even as Tom cursed it as a useless hunk of crap, he realized he could now see the savage with stunning clarity. Night vision activated. Positive Target Lock, the screen inside the scope read. "Got you, you son of a bitch." Tom pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  "What the hell?" He looked down at the rifle and saw that all the lights were functional. "Come on, come on," he said. Sam's destrier was already clear of the Savings and Loan, coming right into the alleyway underneath the savage. Tom threw the rifle back up to watch the Beothuk look away from the main street and down at the ground, realizing that someone was riding up on him. The Beothuk raised his rifle and cocked the hammer back.

  "No," Tom hissed. He pulled the trigger again and again, seeing the ERROR display inside the scope. Target Beyond Standard Rifle Range.

  "God damn you! Fancy cotton-pickin' bucket of shit!"

  Recommend Firing Attachment.

  "Fine! Fire whatever the hell you want!" Tom shouted.

  "Voice Command Authorization Activated," the rifle's mechanical voice announced. "Raise rifle forty-five degrees."

  Tom cursed the rifle again as he lifted it into the air. Digital latitude and longitudinal lines crossed one another in the scope's display, until it finally beeped and said, "Fire when ready."

  Tom pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  "Son of a−"

  A baseball-sized metal orb thumped out of the barrel and soared high into the air over the roof of the Proud Lady. It flashed green as it finished its arc and descended in a thousand sparkling pieces that sizzled through the air. Tom raised the rifle scope to watch the Beothuk warrior's reaction as he looked up as the tiny bombs sped through the air directly at him.

  The explosion blew a hole in the building's roof and sent shards of shattered clay tiles into the air like rain. Sam's destrier bucked to get out of the way, and he snapped the reins to keep them moving through the avalanche of dust and fragments.

  A triumphant roar erupted from the miners crouching in the shadows behind Tom, cheering both for the explosion and for the Sheriff riding through it. They poured out of the buildings and stood up from their hiding places, firing at anything that moved, sending a hail of bullets through the Sheriff's Office porch and shattering the storefront windows of the shops next to it.

  Tom came out with his rifle ready, scanning signs of movement. The scope picked up the electric signature of the fence that dissolved to nothingness as Sam threw the main switch. Once the never-ending hum was silenced, the entire town seemed eerily quiet.

  Sam Clayton charged back the same way he came, behind the Proud Lady, racing for the line of men with their rifles raised behind the Proud Lady, ready to defend him. Nothing moved except a few dry leaves that skittered across the dirt ahead of them. Sam leapt to the ground and took off his hat to wipe his face with his shirt sleeve. It came away wet. He squinted in the direction of the Sheriff's Office and said, "What the hell? I gave 'em a way out."

  Tom kept his rifle ready, swinging back and forth as he scanned for movement. "Would you go? Shit, I'd think it's a trap. That gate's a perfect way to corral them into a duck shoot. You know what? That ain't a bad idea, Sam."

  Sam took a deep breath through his nose and let all the air escape from his chest, trying to get empty. Trying to get himself under control. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a finger full of sweetweed and tucked it behind his bottom lip. "If they ain't gonna come out, we'll have to hunt them down one at a time. They got the upper hand 'cause they know where we are and we don't have a goddamn clue where they're hiding."

  "They came here unprovoked and attacked us! Let's get every able body in town down here and root these sons of bitches out. I say we string 'em on up at the front gate to send a message to all the other itjins that it ain't safe to come to Seneca 6 and hurt our people!"

  Their eyes met, Tom's as hard as steel, glistening with murderous rage. Sam looked back in the direction of the Beothuk and said, "You always was the smart one, Tom Masters. My grave is gonna say, This man died being stupid." He clapped his friend on the arm and said, "Keep everybody back."

  "The hell you think you're going?" Tom called out.

  Sam walked out from behind the building into the streetlights and stopped directly in front of the Proud Lady. He worked up a mouthful of sweetweed juice and spit it at the dirt too close to his boots. He grimaced in disgust and tried to kick dirt onto them. "My name is Sam Clayton," he called out. "I'm the Sheriff of this town, and one of the men been fighting you all night long. You got injured, and we got injured, and what I'm offering you folks a chance to git. The gate's open. None of my people will shoot, and ain't nobody following you once you get outside neither."

  "What?" a man called out. "The hell is that damn fool talking about?"

  "Stay quiet, Billy Jack," Sam snapped.

  "Get the hell out of the way if you're too scared to fight, Clayton!" Billy Jack Elliot shouted. "Them itjins is gonna pay in blood."

  Tom Masters swung around Elliot's back and cracked him across the head with the butt-end of his rifle, driving the man face first into the dirt. Masters cocked the hammer back on the weapon and said, "Everybody shut your goddamn trap 'till Sam gets this sorted out."

  Sam nodded at his deputy and turned back toward the front gate. "I don't know if you understand a damn word I'm saying, but I hope you can judge my intentions by the tone in my voice. We don't want any more bloodshed tonight. Just take your people and go on home."

  A half-naked man emerged from behind the Sheriff's Office holding a rifle strung with decorative feathers and
beads. The rifle was aimed at the ground as the man walked toward Sam up Pioneer Way. His long black ponytail flowed in the wind and animal fangs and other totems hung from leather cords around his neck. Tom and all the other men raised their guns instinctively, but Sam held up his hands and shouted, "Put them down!"

  The Beothuk stopped in front of Sam, both of them staring at the other in wonder. Sam could not believe it when the man spoke his language, saying in a clear, strong voice, "What of our dead?"

  "What of your what?" Sam said. You son of a bitch. You come into my town and start burning the place to the ground and now you want to ask about your dead? He took a deep breath before he spoke again to collect himself. He could tell everybody behind him was trying to listen, so he kept his voice to a low whisper, "Both sides have casualties, but there ain't nothing to be done for them right now. I'm more worried about keeping the living alive for tonight."

  The Beothuk did not move. Something was wrong, smoldering behind the man's stoic gaze as he looked past Sam to see if anyone else could hear them. This was not a man who factored emotions into his decisions easily, Sam reckoned. Finally the Beothuk said, "One of our warriors is missing. He did not meet up with us, as he was instructed."

  "He's probably dead," Sam said. "You killed a few of us and we killed a few of you."

  "This warrior is my son."

  Sam let out a deep breath. "Well, maybe he's just holed up somewheres. If I find your boy and I can get him back to you, I will. That's my word."

  "Yes, but it is the word of a wasichu," the leader grumbled.

  Sam put his fists on his hips and said, "Listen, partner. I didn't ask you people to come in here. I sure as hell didn't tell you to bring your son neither. Now you can take it or leave it, 'cause that's the best it's gonna get right now."

  The Beothuk took Sam's measure, but still did not move. His voice was low and from-the-gut, clogging up his throat when he said, "If my son has crossed over, it is important his body is returned to us. It is what we believe. Do this, and my people will never return to do harm to this place. This is the solemn vow of Thasuka Witko."