A Bloody Bloody Mess In The Wild Wild West

by Justin Bienvenue

  “Okay, now if you think Captain Wallace should be sheriff raise your hand.” Only five people raised their hands. “Ah, dammit!” Wallace yells out loud in disapproval.

  “Finally, those who think Deputy Dugan should be sheriff raise your hands.” Eight people raised their hands but then Emerson raised his hand as the ninth vote. Everyone looked on in amazement and shock.

  “Mr. Shaw, you wish to vote for your

  opponent?” a voice asks. Emerson then says, “As much as I may think I could be a good Sheriff, I think Captain Wallace is right. I ain’t my father and I don’t want to try and live up to who he was. I gotta be my own man and I believe the best person for the job is the man who worked beside him, Mr. Henry Dugan.”

  “Alright. Well on that note, I hereby state that Deputy Henry Dugan is now the new Sheriff of Toomswood.” Everyone began cheering and giving approval and shaking Dugan’s hand. “Thank you everyone. I won’t let you down and I will do my best to make this town its best. As my first order of business, I would like to name Emerson Shaw my deputy, if he kindly accepts that is,” Dugan says as he puts his hand out to Emerson.

  “I would be honored, Sheriff.” The positions are sealed with a handshake. “Alright, it’s settled then. Our new Sheriff and Deputy but now gentleman we have our first issue. What do we do with that no good, rotten ass, son of a bitch Javier Jones?”

  “I say we hang em!”

  “I say we cut his head off!” People begin making their wishes of Jones known out loud. “I say we burn em, hang em and then burn em again!” another man exclaims as everyone laughs afterwards.

  “Enough!” Capt. Wallace says. “Emerson, Sheriff, you have any reasonable idea as to how we can bring down this guy once and for all?”

  Emerson is the first to speak. “Well, I know everyone has a hatred for the man. Hell, we are having this meeting behind his back to put a stop to his killing of this town. Now I know it’s not gonna be easy but we gotta catch him in a criminal act. I’m sorry but it’s not cause I’m thinkin righteous. It’s cause if we try to kill or frame him, we are no better than he is.” “Oh, who gives a rat’s ass if we are like him? We know we ain’t. We all just wanna go back to living our lives the way we did before he came in and ruined it,” a voice from the crowd adds. “Well if that’s the case for everyone in this room, then why haven’t any of you killed him yet, hmm? Why is he still alive? Exactly. Cause you all have morals and know that it’s wrong to just kill. We may duel for many reasons but even we know gettin the blood of a man like Javier Jones on our hands can set us back quite a bit. Given we are already in rough shape after the war and this place is already a shithole, I don’t think we wanna run what we do have left into the ground,” Shaw proclaims proudly to the crowd.

  “Emerson’s right,” Sheriff Dugan says. “Jones pushes us all around and does what he does but even he is bound to make a mistake. Hell, he’s encountered me enough times. Only difference is this time, if he touches me, his ass is going in jail.”

  “Well we are gonna need a bigger solution than throwing him in jail, Henry,” Emerson says. “I say we all confront him and kindly tell him his services are no longer or were ever needed here. That he needs to pack his bags and leave.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” a crowd member asks. “Well, then I think we are all in agreement when I say, if he wants to stay he has to go through all of us.” Everyone talks and nods in agreement.

  “We confront him and we tell him.” It’s then that Emerson and the crowd are interrupted by the door of the town hall opening and the rattling spurs on the black boots of Javier Jones coming closer.

  “Well, well. It appears we got a town meeting goin on and I wasn’t invited,” Jones says. “Which can only mean one thing. Y’all are talking about me and having a vote for sheriff. So, tell me… who’s the new courageous man of the law? Is it Emerson?” Jones then laughs.

  Henry Dugan steps forward. “No Javier. I would happen to be the new Sheriff and we didn’t include you because you know you’re not welcome here. You haven’t been since you stepped foot into Toomswood and if I were you, I’d walk right out that door right now or we’ll make sure you do.”

  “Henry Dugan’s the new Sheriff?” He laughs. “Well it’s good to see you’ve finally gotten your head out of Shaw’s ass,” Jones says.

  “Now, you may be speaking on behalf of all the people here but I wanna hear it from them. So, does everyone else think I should leave?” The room goes dead silent as no one says a word. Emerson then says to Jones, “They don’t have to answer you Jones. You’re done here and you need to go.”

  Javier gets in Emerson’s face. “Is that so, boy? Well, aren’t you just a chip of the ole block. You got some nerve tellin’ me off. If it wasn’t for me, this place would be a ghost town. Now I don’t care if you’re the late sheriff’s son or the new deputy, as I can see on your shirt there, but you’re not makin me do shit. If you got a problem, then I say we settle this outside pistol to pistol if you catch my drift,” Jones says.

  “I ain’t dueling with you Javier,” Emerson says. “Why’s that? Cause you know I’ll kill you? You’re no fun Emerson. You’re just a gutless coward,” Jones says. Jones then walks out but not before saying one more thing.

  “You know, all you had to do was say please.” He laughs. “But then, again I ain’t one for manners so if you’re all done with your secret meeting, I am out of here. And, believe me, if any of you try and run me out of this town, there will be hell to pay.” Javier then leaves the town hall satisfied he had left a mark deep in the heads of the townspeople.

  “God I hate that son of a bitch,” Capt. Wallace says. “Well we all know what we gotta do and that right there gives us all the more reason to run his ass outta here.”

  When he gets outside, Javier Jones goes over to the saloon to meet with his gang. “Ah, Bones. You’re just in time. We were having a poker game. You want in?” Joey Morrey asks his boss. “It’s no time for games, boys. I just came from the town hall. Seems the town is

  conspiring to run me out of here and, well, I just ain’t gonna let that happen.”

  “Well uh…you know boss, you do gotta temper and one mean attitude,” one of his crew members says.

  “What are you saying?” Jones asks the man. “Nothing Bones..err…boss. It’s just, well, you treat us like crap too and we’re tired of it.” The rest of his crew simply looks the other way except Joey Morrey, who looks at Jones with pride in his eyes. Jones pulls out his gun and shoots the man who spoke up, twice in the chest and once in the head.

  “Stupid son of a bitch. Who you think you’re talking to?” Jones adds. “Anyone else got something to tell me?” They all say no and shake their heads, much to Jones delight. “I didn’t think so. Now pick up that sorry saps body and drag it out to the deck. Bartenders hate when I leave a mess in their bar.”

  Just as the men go to pick up the dead man’s body, he gets up and scratches his head with a look on him that would make him seem not all quite there. They all step back, along with Jones. “Holy shit! I thought he was dead!” Jones then shoots him again and then exclaims to his men, “Shoot the bastard! Shoot him again until he’s dead!”

  They each fire a round into their fellow comrade and he hits the floor. “Now I have seen a lot of things in my day but I’ve never seen a man get up after gettin shot.” Jones seemed ill. He was sweating and getting pale.

  “Boss, have a seat. You’re just shaken is all. You’ll be okay,” Joey Morrey says giving up his seat for Jones. It is then that the dead man again gets up and stumbles while grunting and groaning in pain. The crew goes to draw their guns but not before Jones stops them.

  “Wait just a damn minute. This doesn’t make sense. We put six rounds into him and he still ain’t dyin. Don’t waste your bullets.” Jones goes up to the undead member of his crew. “Jackson, I don’t suppose you know why you won’t die, do ya?” Jones asks him. Jackson stares at him with no expression and cannot seem to
form words.

  “Can’t you talk Jackson or is that the death of you?” Jackson’s jaw dripping with blood and mangled with a bullet wedged inside it, which had been shot at during the ordeal, literally falls to the floor. Jones steps back horrified. Jackson then reaches for Jones but not before Jones shoots him three more times. Again, Jackson falls to the floor. Jones then looks at his crew.

  “He’s not human! Did you see? Why won’t he die?!” Jones asks in total disbelief. Jackson then gets up just enough, draws his gun and shoots two of the crew members in their necks. Soon, shots are being fired left and right in every angle and Jones ducks under a table to avoid being shot at by his own men.

  Each man fires all their shots until their revolvers are empty or they are dead. Of Jones’ five man crew, only two are still alive. After hearing the shots, the people over at the town hall come rushing over to see what’s happening in the saloon.

  “What in the hell,” Emerson speaks, but stops as he looks on to see the bloody display before his very eyes. On the floor of the saloon lays three of Jones’ men dead, for the moment anyway, with Jackson looking the most gruesome of all.

  There is a bullet hole on the side of his head. The blood is dripping down his face along with no jaw and about six chest wounds. The other two looked almost as bad, both with neck wounds made by Jackson and Jones himself during the chaos.

  Jones, the only one who appears not wounded, remains hidden under a table gripping his gun firmly and sticking out.

  “They’re gonna get back up you watch!” “They aren’t human anymore!” Jones yells to the people now watching on.

  “Jones, you had a fight with your own men?” Emerson asks him. “Jackson over there went and sided with you people and I shot his no good trader ass right in the head and he got up so then I shot him again. Then we all started shooting cause Jackson just wouldn’t die.”

  “Calm down Jones,” Emerson says. “You mean to tell me that you killed your man and he got back up? I think you’re mistaken or had a bit too much to drink.”

  “You watch! They’ll get up. They’re the undead. I swear to you!” The three dead bodies remain motionless much to Jones chagrin.

  Everyone soon went back to their business as Emerson and Sheriff Dugan stay behind to get the whole story from Jones and his two remaining men. As they are about to question them further, a woman yells from out of the Saloon.

  “Jones, you stay put. You owe us an

  explanation for this shit.” Dugan says as he and Emerson are going to attend to the yelling of the woman in distress. Jones and his two living men get up and run to the back of the counter where the Bartender is against the wall slouched over dead. “Now you all know what we saw right? They ain’t dead. I mean hell, I shot Jackson myself four or five times.”

  “Yeah boss, I sure saw it,” Joey says back. “Let’s get the hell out of here before they come back. That goes for Emerson and the Sheriff, too,” Jones says. He and the two remaining men flee to the back of the Saloon and go out the back door.

  “Why do I always find myself going out the back doors of saloons?” Jones asks himself. After they are out of the saloon, Jones looks over to notice someone standing there waiting for them. The man was well dressed in brown shoes, black suit, frayed studded jacket and to finish it all off a top hat. It was Roland Helmsfeld.

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” Jones asks him. “Well Mr. Jones, I did say I would be back and if you would like, I can tell you why your dead men in there keep coming back,” Helmsfeld says.

  “You mean you’re behind this?” Jones asks him with a shocked look on his face.

  “On the contrary, Mr. Jones, you are behind it. I gave you a certain new found ability, as you may recall. Well I forgot to mention that you have another new trend going for you. You see Mr. Jones, when you gave me your soul, not only did I give you the elixir but it also gave you a new found likeness.” Jones looks at the man in confusion.

  “Enough of your damn riddles, Mister. Just get to the point,” Jones says back. “Of course, in simple terms, I have kept your men alive to an extent but when you kill them or anyone else within the next 72 hours they will become undead too. That is as clear as I can put it.”

  “Undead? I’m not sure I . . .” Jones is cut off. “You see, Mr. Jones, I am more than I appear and I have allowed your men to become undead for your benefit. I figured you’d enjoy having your men a bit more altered and you shall lead them on your quest to become . . . how did you say it? Oh yes, so you could run this town.” Helmsfeld says as he laughs eerily.

  Jones responds back, “So you mean to tell me that you made my men into the walking dead and that anyone I kill within the next 72 hours ends up the same way?”

  “That is correct, Mr. Jones. Call it an added bonus but also an insurance policy for us both. You see, I too, have my reasons but all you need to know is that I have given you what you wanted and then some,” Helmsfeld says again to him.

  “So anyone I kill becomes?” “The undead, Mr. Jones. Not dead, nor alive but in the middle, walking around like you and me with the urge to kill I would presume. After all, isn’t that what we all believe them to do?” Helmsfeld adds and laughs again. Jones, now with a smile on his face adds, “Well if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want me to kill some folk in order for me to build some sort of army.”

  “Ah! Not only are you to the point, but I do say you are smart as well. I knew you would have an altercation with the towns folk and I felt bad for you so I put all of this into work,”

  Helmsfeld explains.

  “Well I ain’t gonna wanna kill the town folk cause I ain’t want them to come back. So how’s this gonna work exactly?” Jones asks him sternly. “Well, Mr. Jones, the last gift I give to you is the army of men who have already fought, for your honor and mine. I give to you, Mr. Jones, a whole army of undead Civil War soldiers. They shall arrive at midnight tonight.” Jones smiles wickedly and replies back, “I sure don’t know what I did to deserve your

  kindness, my dear sir, but I gladly oblige.”

  Helmsfeld laughs back and says, “Like I said, Mr. Jones, it’s the least I can do for a man of your caliber. Lead the way with them and do as you please, and remember, I have my reasons but they are of no importance.”

  “I got one last question,” Jones says.

  “Yes, Mr. Jones?” Helmsfeld replies.

  “Is there any way the undead can die? I wanna know what I’m dealing with here.” Helmsfeld says nothing and mysteriously disappears in a puff of smoke, laughing into a fade. Jones then turns to his men, all of them now standing side by side along the wall outside of the saloon.

  “Jackson, I didn’t know you were back to help, I apologize,” Jones says, as he starts loading six bullets into his gun.

  “Well gentlemen I want you at your finest and this is the only way to make sure of that,” Jones says as he points his gun and fires a shot into each one of his men. They all fall to the ground but the two who still live hold their wounds in pain.

  “No boss, I was fine the way I was,” Joey Morrey says.

  “I’m sorry Joey, but if I’m gonna lead undead soldiers, I want everyone to be undead. You’ll be better off, you’ll see.”

  Jones reloads four more bullets into his gun but before he can fire, Joey Morrey takes out his pistol and aims it at Jones.

  “You said everyone, boss but you forgot to include yourself. Don’t you want the ability of not being able to die?” Joey asks. “I didn’t think of that and you’re right. I didn’t include myself but you see boy, I have no soul so I’m quite sure that means I can’t die either. Also, Joey I got shot twice earlier,” he says lying. Jones shows the inner part of his jacket to reveal two bullet wounds in his chest and a massive blood stained shirt which was the blood of someone else. Jones laughs, you see Joey, we are all gonna be better off.

  He then pulls his gun so fast that before Joey can say a word, he falls to the floor as a bullet finds its
way into his skull. This is Jones displaying his point-pin, dead on accuracy.

  “You’ll see my boy. We’re better off.” Sheriff Dugan stands in the doorway of the back of the saloon having seen and heard the whole thing that just took place between Jones, his men and Helmsfeld. He runs off to the front of the saloon and begins telling Emerson exactly what he saw.

  “And you swear you saw all of this take place?” Emerson asks him.

  “Emerson, when have you ever known me to tell a far-fetched tale? I hung around your father a lot, that much is true, but I never believed his stories and I sure don’t be making up my own now. You believe me or not?” Dugan asks him with concern in his voice.

  “Yes Henry, I believe you. They’re just two problems we have. How are we gonna convince the rest of the town and what the hell are we gonna do to stop Javier and his men now?”

  Chapter 6 Emerson

  Six Months Earlier.

  “When you’re wrong, your wrong, dad,” Emerson says to his father.

  “Well, I guess you’re right boy and a bet’s a bet,” Calvin Shaw says back. Both had gone out of town and wagered a bet that Edgeville, the town next to Toomswood, had suffered as badly as they did. But much to Calvin Shaw’s disappointment, the town was much more prosperous than he thought. That’s why Emerson won the bet.

  “Alright Emerson, you won the bet which means I will take care of the horses and fix that damn faucet that keeps leaking.”

  “Oh and don’t forget my horse here, she’ll need special care of course,” Emerson says back. Calvin gives him a sneering look, “Yeah, yeah I gotcha.” When they got to the town of Edgeville, they noticed there were a lot more people than Toomswood had. In fact, it was at least double their population. This was what it looked like when a town didn’t let time consume them, swallow them and then spit them back out. “I gotta go find the town’s sheriff and speak to him about their delightful town here but also to see if they have come across the likes of Javier Jones,” Calvin says.