World War III

by Heath Jannusch

  “A huge army comprised of Russian and Chinese troops is amassing at Lake Tahoe. You don’t really believe the enemy is just going to leave you alone when they arrive, do you?”

  “I reckon we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “You might be crossing it sooner than you think,” cautioned Shiloh. “The invading army could be here in a couple of days and from what I’ve seen, your town has no organized plan of defense. If we don’t hold the enemy in the mountains, there’s nothing to stop them from rolling across America’s heartland.”

  The bartender glanced at Shiloh, as he poured himself a shot of whiskey. There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes and he appeared a little more concerned. “If we see enemy soldiers coming, we’ll load up and head east,” he declared, before downing the whiskey.

  “And go where? There’s an even larger army headed here from the east coast and another moving north out of Mexico. There’s simply nowhere to run to. We must stand and fight!”

  “Kurt honey, I gotta drink order for ya,” said one of the dancing girls, from the other end of the bar. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She smiled at Shiloh, inspecting him from head to toe.

  Shiloh nodded and smiled back, before staring into his cup of steaming coffee.

  “Excuse me Shiloh, but duty calls.” Kurt said with a wink, before turning and walking to the end of the bar, where the girl stood patiently waiting.

  Aware the girl’s gaze was still upon him, Shiloh turned and leaned with his back against the bar. He slowly scanned the room, sizing up the occupants within. Somewhere between fifty and a hundred men, were playing games, drinking booze and flirting with the girls.

  Although he didn’t condone their behavior, Shiloh recognized the men were just the sort he was looking for. They were hard living, hard drinking and hard fighting men. With the right leader, they’d be a force to be reckoned with.

  After a few minutes of observation, he walked to a round table, where several men were playing Texas Hold’em. “Mind if I join you gentlemen?” He asked, realizing it was his best chance to meet men who’d be willing to join the fight.

  “Have a seat stranger,” offered one of the men, nodding to an open chair next to him. “My name is Baker, Van Baker and these scallywags are Charlie Grant, Aaron Darby, Daniel Funk and Adam Campbell,” he added, indicating each of the men surrounding the table.

  “Nice to meet you gentlemen, my name is Shiloh Evans.” He shook each man’s hand, before dropping into the vacant chair and examining the cards he’d been dealt. He wasn’t good at poker, having had little experience, but much to his surprise he won the first few hands.

  “Are you a card shark?” Daniel teased, after losing another hand.

  “Beginners luck,” suggested Shiloh, pulling his winnings toward him.

  “No one should have that much luck,” mumbled Adam, staring bleakly at the cards in his hand.

  “Ya win some, you lose some,” said Van, staring at his own hand. “And this time, I think I’ve won,” he added, hoping to bluff the others into folding.

  Shiloh was about to mention the foreign army camped at Lake Tahoe, when the large double-doors swung open and six rough looking men entered. The group sauntered over to the bar and ordered drinks, swaggering as if they owned the place. Shiloh watched them from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure why, but something about them made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

  “Careful friend,” cautioned Van, when he saw Shiloh watching the men. “Those boys are trouble and they’ll kill ya just as soon as look at ya.”

  “Who are they?” Shiloh asked, alert, but undaunted.

  “They work for Damien Kirkpatrick, the Mayor of Dayton,” whispered Van, softly.

  “I thought the Mayor of Dayton was a man by the name of Juan Martinez?”

  “He was the Mayor,” agreed Van, “until he and Damien had a disagreement.”

  “What happened?”

  “No one really knows,” admitted Van. “Damien simply shot him dead in the middle of the street one day. He claimed it was self-defense and a gun was found lying on the ground by the Mayor’s body, but I’ve got my doubts.”

  “Did anyone see the Mayor reach for his gun?” Asked Shiloh, glancing at the men by the bar.

  “Nope, but that didn’t stop Damien. He saw an opportunity to seize power and took it. What bothers me is I knew Juan Martinez and he never, ever, carried a gun,” replied Van.

  “So why hasn’t the Sheriff arrested him for murder?”

  “You see the fella wearing the black baseball cap?”

  “Yeah,” replied Shiloh, glancing at the group of men.

  “He’s the Sheriff of Dayton and wouldn’t ya know it, he also works for Damien Kirkpatrick. His name is Cody Hyde and he’s just as dangerous as Damien,” warned Van. “He and his henchmen do Kirkpatrick’s bidding. Trust me, you don’t want a run-in with that lot.”

  Almost as if he knew they were talking about him, Cody Hyde suddenly turned and strolled to the table, with a drink in hand. Standing at the opposite end of the table, across from Shiloh, he watched the game for a moment in silence.

  Shiloh sensed the men around him become tense with fear, but pretended not to notice.

  With Cody hovering over them, the mood at the table instantly changed. All discussions ceased under his watchful eyes, as the men focused on the cards held in their trembling hands. The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

  From the corner of his eye, Shiloh noticed beads of sweat form on Van’s forehead, as he folded his hand, placing his cards face down on the table in front of him. He was surprised by Sheriff Hyde’s effect on the men and wondered what the man had done to earn such notoriety.

  Shiloh won the pot again, yet not for holding the best hand, but rather because one-by-one the other men folded theirs and dropped from the game.

  “Lucky you!” Cody bellowed, staring across the table at Shiloh, with a mischievous grin.

  Shiloh didn’t respond, he merely gathered his winnings and began to shuffle the deck.

  “I said you’re pretty lucky,” repeated Cody, glancing at his companions who still stood drinking at the bar. As if on command, the group of men turned and approached the game. They stood in a circle around the table, with one of them positioned directly behind Shiloh.

  “I heard you,” replied Shiloh, without looking up. He finished shuffling the cards and began to deal.

  “I don’t know you,” stated Cody, sizing Shiloh up from across the table. The stranger was tall and strong, but that didn’t worry him. A bullet placed in the right spot would make even the toughest man fall.

  “Nope,” agreed Shiloh, as he finished dealing.

  “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Cody shouted, infuriated by the stranger’s calm demeanor. He was the only man at the table, and probably the whole saloon, who wasn’t frightened of him. This bothered Cody because he fed on fear, devouring it like a savage animal.

  Without saying a word, Shiloh calmly placed his cards on the table in front of him and looked into Cody’s cold, grey eyes. He hadn’t come here looking for trouble, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna shy away from it either.

  Staring down into Shiloh’s steal-blue eyes, Cody felt a chill run down his spine, angering him even more. He wasn’t afraid of any man, especially not some random rancher, from God knows where. Yet, something about the stranger worried him and gave him pause. He glanced at his friend standing behind Shiloh and nodded slightly. Knowing what was expected of him, the man immediately stepped forward and reached for Shiloh.

  Noticing the man’s movement reflected in one of the glasses on the table, Shiloh reacted without hesitation. Instead of waiting for the attack to come, he quickly stood up and swung his arm backward, elbowing the man in his stomach. The would-be assailant grunted from the blow, his eyes bulging in shock. Shiloh immediately grabbed the man’s hair and smashed his face
into the table, scattering cards and chips in every direction. The man’s nose crunching was muffled by a scream, as he slid to the floor, his face covered in blood.

  “You broke my nose!” He cried out, covering his crooked nose with both hands.

  “Yes I did,” agreed Shiloh, pulling his chair back and sitting down. He glanced up and met Cody’s deadly stare from across the table. “Sorry about that,” he added, calmly, “but your man startled me.”

  Cody’s face turned red, as he tried to control his rage. He tossed back his head and finished the remainder of whiskey, before placing the empty shot glass on the table in front of him. A wicked grin materialized on his face, as he hooked his thumbs behind his belt, inches from his gun. Without uttering a word, his men slowly spread out, their hands hovering over the guns strapped in their holsters.

  “Ya all better clear out,” advised Cody, his gaze intent upon Shiloh.

  All of the men sitting around the game, with the exception of Shiloh, scooted back from the table and quietly slinked away.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Van, who was the last to leave, “but I gotta wife and kid at home.”

  Shiloh smiled at the older man and nodded. “I understand,” he said. He couldn’t blame any of them for wanting to return home alive. It wasn’t their fight and the last thing he wanted was an innocent bystander getting killed, leaving a widow and orphan behind. “This doesn’t have to go any further,” he added, his eyes never leaving Cody’s. “I didn’t come here looking for trouble. I’ve come to speak with Mayor Blackwell.”

  From the corner of his eye, Shiloh noticed a rather tough looking man, wearing blue jeans and a cowboy hat, stiffen at the mention of the Mayor, before turning and heading upstairs.

  An ominous silence fell over the saloon, while everyone watched in dread. Most of the occupants had seen Cody kill many a man, yet for some reason this stranger seemed different. Unlike Sheriff Hyde’s previous prey, this man didn’t appear frightened.

  “Well ya should’ve thought of that before breaking my friend’s nose,” hissed Cody.

  “I was simply defending myself,” stated Shiloh. “Only a coward attacks from behind?”

  “Ya sure talk tough for a man all by his lonesome,” grinned Cody. “Ya think you’re tough enough to handle all of us?”

  “Six against one,” observed Shiloh, glancing skeptically at the men surrounding the table, “it hardly seems fair.”

  “What’s the matter, you scared?” Cody taunted, feeling emboldened.

  “Hardly,” said Shiloh, smiling back. “I meant it wouldn’t be fair for you and your men.”

  The sound of muffled laughter could be heard throughout the saloon, angering Cody even more.

  Shiloh glanced up and noticed the man wearing the cowboy hat on the second floor. He was bent down whispering in the ear of a woman, sitting at a table alone. Unlike every other woman in the brothel, she wasn’t dressed in provocative lingerie. Instead she wore a skirt and a black blouse, with a plunging V-neck. When she noticed Shiloh looking at her, she smiled and whispered something to the cowboy.

  “We don’t like strangers round here,” hissed Cody, desperately wanting to kill this man, who openly defied his authority. But for the first time in his life, he hesitated and wasn’t sure why. Yet he had to do something, no one laughed at Cody Hyde and lived to tell the tale.

  “My name is Shiloh Evans.”

  “Who gives a damn what your name is,” retorted Cody, gaining more confidence.

  “Well, now we’re not strangers,” replied Shiloh. Once again the room was filled with laughter.

  Cody’s eyes became wide with anger, as his hand inched closer to his gun. But before he could do anything rash, a voice from behind stopped him.

  “Cody Hyde, if ya so much as touch your gun I’ll split ya in two!” The man wearing the cowboy hat held a double-barreled shotgun, pointed directly at Cody. And he was right, from such a short distance the blast would likely tear Cody’s body in half.

  “You taking his side, Hunter?” Cody slurred, glaring at the man holding the shotgun.

  “I’m not taking any sides,” replied the cowboy named Hunter. “I just don’t wanna have to clean up the mess after.”

  “Damien’s gonna hear about this!” Warned Cody, desperately wanting to reach for his gun, but wise enough not to.

  “I honestly don’t give a damn,” replied Hunter. “Mr. Kirkpatrick isn’t the Mayor of Mound House and you aren’t the Sheriff. So don’t for one second think ya can come round here bullying people and get away with it!”

  “You ain’t heard the end of this!” Spat Cody, turning on his heels and heading for the door, his men trailing behind.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something,” said Hunter, his shotgun still pointed at Cody.

  Cody stopped, turned around and hissed, “What?”

  “You fellas haven’t paid your tab.”

  Shiloh could see blood rush to Cody’s face, as anger bubbled up within. For a moment, he thought the man might chance it and go for his gun, but caution got the better of him.

  Cody reached into his pocket and withdrew a silver coin and tossed it on the table. “I’ll be seeing you again!” He said, glaring at Shiloh, before spinning on his heels and leaving.

  “Thanks for your help,” said Shiloh. “I didn’t want to kill him.”

  “Kill him?” Repeated Hunter, a grin forming at the corner of his mouth. “Ya realize you were outnumbered six to one? If I hadn’t come along you’d be dead by now.”

  “Maybe,” replied Shiloh, slowly lifting his hand from under the table. Gripped in his palm was a six-shooter, cocked and ready. “Maybe not,” he added, resting the pistol on the table in front of him, within easy reach.

  “You only have six shots,” observed Hunter.

  “True,” agreed Shiloh, “but as you’ve already pointed out there were only six of them and at this distance, how could I miss?”

  “There are no firearms allowed within city limits,” declared Hunter, reaching for the gun on the table.

  “Then why are you packing?” Shiloh asked, resting his hand on the six-shooter and making it clear he’d no intention of surrendering the weapon.

  Hunter hesitated, not wanting a shoot-out. He wasn’t scared, but the stranger was right, at this distance neither of them would miss. “I’m the Sheriff of Mound House,” he stated. “I represent the Mayor and I enforce the laws, of which this is one.”

  “Of course,” smiled Shiloh, relinquishing his weapon. “I’d like to speak with the Mayor.”

  “That can be arranged. I heard you say your name is Shiloh Evans?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And where are you from?”

  “Clearview.”

  “Pleasure to meet ya, my name is Hunter Ashcroft,” he said, tucking the six-shooter behind his belt. “Come with me.”

  Shiloh stood and collected his winnings. Glancing around, he noticed the woman on the second floor watching him closely. Her light, blue eyes were piercing, an exotic contrast to her long, dark hair. But it wasn’t her beauty which made his eyes linger, it was the intense way she looked at him. Their eyes connected and she smiled, before looking away.

  Shiloh followed Hunter up the stairs, as a piano began to play and the patrons resumed their games. Reaching the top of the staircase, he noticed the blue-eyed, dark-haired beauty had vanished. He was led to a heavy, wooden door, with two men standing guard. Hunter opened the door and ushered him inside, before closing it behind him.

  Shiloh was immediately greeted by a giant, stuffed, grizzly bear, standing on its hind quarters, with outstretched arms. At the far end of the room was a large, oak desk, intricately engraved. Behind the desk was an oversized, leather chair, its back turned toward him. Although he couldn’t see the person sitting in the chair, a thin tendril of smoke rose from the other side. He took a step forward, floorboards creaking beneath his feet.

  “Hello, my name is Shiloh,” he said, taking an
other step forward. “I’ve come from the town of Clearview.”

  “I know who you are and where you’ve come from,” said a soft, delicate voice. “The question is, why have you come?” The chair slowly swiveled around, revealing the blue-eyed, dark-haired woman.

  “I need to speak with the Mayor,” said Shiloh, as the woman puffed on a small cigar. Her nose wrinkled and she stifled a cough, before placing the cigar in an ash tray.

  “And so you are,” she smiled, enjoying the look of shock on his face.

  “You’re Mayor Blackwell?” He asked, doubtfully. “But, you’re a woman.”

  “Very observant of you Mr. Evans,” she said. “Can’t a woman be a Mayor?”

  “Well, of course. I just thought, well in a town as rough as this…”

  “You thought I’d be a man,” she said, finishing his sentence.

  “Yes, yes I did.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “No disappointment ma’am,” he said, glancing around the lavishly decorated room.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” replied the Mayor, opening a humidor full of cigars. “Would you like one?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Please, have seat Mr. Evans,” she said, indicating the chair across from her. “My name is Scarlett Blackwell, how may I be of service?” She leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk and gazed deep into his eyes, the low-cut blouse revealing her ample bosom. She was surprised when his eyes didn’t immediately drop to her cleavage, but instead remained fixed on hers. He wasn’t like most men and she liked it.

  “Please, call me Shiloh ma’am.”

  “Okay, Shiloh,” she giggled, “but only if you call me Scarlett. Ma’am, makes me feels old.”

  “Of course,” smiled Shiloh. “I’ve come to warn you of the foreign army amassing at Lake Tahoe and preparing to march across the mountains. Volunteers from the Clearview Militia are trying to slow their advance, but we need more men. We’ve dispatched several messengers to surrounding towns, notifying them of the impending danger.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” said Scarlett, her eyes fixed on his.

  “Of course,” he said, clearing his throat, “but that’s not the only reason I’m here.”