Gunship - The Series

by John Davis

  She tried to motion Dalton to sit back down, but it was of no use.

  “Yea Johnny. She went out and fetched her a real man. Aint' got no use for make believe cowboys anymore.” Dalton said provokingly.

  “Careful outlander. Best sit back down and put those lips on the rim of a glass before they get you killed.” Johnny said as he continued to stare at Cambria.

  “Only thing these lips are going to be on, boy, is that pretty little woman standing in front of you.” Dalton said, earning a very strange look from Cambria in the process.

  “Alright. You've had your chance, and now you gotta die.” Johnny said as he turned slowly.

  Dalton was the first to go for his revolver, barely raising it from his holster before Johnny's barrel was aiming down at him.

  “Oh shit.” Dalton said, stunned by the gunslinger's speed. He hadn't seen anyone that fast with a pistol. His good friend and former Captain Adam Michaels maybe, but even that was a stretch.

  “Law says I'm within my right to cut you down right here where you stand.” Johnny said as Dalton felt a sober panic flow through his rum tainted blood. “But I'm not going to, I like your demeanor outlander.” Johnny added, pulling his pistol down, holstering it once more with blazing speed and slapping Dalton on the arm a bit.

  “Damn straight you're not.” Tank said, hoisting his large shotgun up into the direction of Johnny as he and Skulls entered the building.

  Immediately, fourteen men stood to their feet, each pulling a sidearm and taking aim on Tank. Skulls was quick to pull his rifle as well, determined to take a few with him if need be. Reluctant to do so, Dalton finally pulled his revolver and held it to the face of Johnny.

  “Everyone!” Cambria shouted. “Calm down! We just came in for a drink and a little down time for the evening.” she added. “Johnny, call them off!” she said, her voice of soothing persuasion doing the trick.

  “Do what she says boys.” Johnny said, the large group of men slowly putting revolvers back into their side mounted holsters. Johnny then turned back to Dalton.

  “I let you live because you are new here, won't be extending the courtesy twice.”

  Both Tank and Skulls kept their weapons raised as Johnny and his group slowly left.

  “Gotta go anyway beautiful, taking a Drifter hunting party out tonight.” Johnny said with a smile before turning to exit the large room.

  “Well that was fun.” Dalton said as he slowly sat back down and ordered another stout shot of rum.

  “Point of interest,” Tank said as he slowly sat down. “The next time someone has that many armed friends, it would be helpful to know BEFORE I draw down on him.” he added with emotion.

  “Sorry, it all happened so fast.” Cambria said with apology.

  “Don't sweat it baby, I still love you.” Dalton added as he slammed the shotglass down and gritted his teeth from the burn.

  “Speaking of which,” Cambria said as she slapped Dalton across the top portion of his arm. “What is this about your lips being on me?” she asked.

  “Did I say that? I never said that?” Dalton replied in an attempt to back out of his ill chosen words. “Stay out of it!” he added angrily as Whiskey barked loudly as if to turns state's evidence on him.

  “Been a long time since we've seen anyone stand up to The Revolver.” a woman with soft blonde hair said as she slowly approached Dalton, pink accents glimmering across her soothing flow of locks.

  “Mind if I buy you a drink?” she asked, Dalton turning to his crew with a hard look before turning back to accept her offer.

  “Well, um, I gotta go find some more ammunition anyway.” Tank said, standing to his feet slowly.

  “And I should look into finding us work.” Cambria said, slowly standing to her feet as well. Her lushly curved bottom reason enough for Whiskey to stand quickly, though his most important part was already standing to attention, watching her every move through the thick of his goggles.

  As they waited for Skulls to follow suit, the sniper sat there, skimming the interior of the building. Cambria cleared her throat slightly as a suggestive hint, one that never struck home with the skilled killer. Shortly after, his chair was kicked hard by Tank, who motioned him away with a tilt of the head.

  Skulls looked at Dalton for a moment and shrugged before standing and following the group.

  About fucking time ya squatter. Dalton thought, before turning to the blonde with a manufactured smile painted onto his face. “My name's Selina, and you are?” she asked playfully.

  In most cases a name meant something, stood for beliefs or heritage. Not to Dalton. In his mind a name was merely words strung together and tied snugly around curves and parts capable of sexual loving. Like a wool blanket. And just like a wool blanket, when it got wet it got clingy.

  “I'm Dalton. Dalton James.” he said with a grin on one side of his face, though he had indeed contemplated using an alias.

  As Cambria and group exited the Trading Post, once again the Geartown normal seemed anything but to both Tank and Skulls. Glancing through the busy street of such a small town, Skulls noticed a majority of the townfolk glancing back.

  “What's that about?” Tank asked as he glanced up into the air, a tall wooden tower standing above the entrance to Geartown.

  “Warning system of sorts,” Cambria said after a quick glance, her explanation falling from such tender lips.

  “If you hear the bell on that tower ring, means a Drifter is nearby. If you are unarmed they ask you to get indoors as a precaution while the sniper up there scopes and shoots.” she added.

  Skulls glanced at that moment, uninterested up until the word sniper was uttered. He was damn good with a scope and knew it. Rightfully so, he was thinking of the art of sniping most times and when another skilled shooter was nearby, Skulls found himself feeling almost competitive.

  “Is he any good?” Skulls asked.

  “Hasn't been a Drifter reach town before,” Cambria said softly. “But I'd say you're a bit better with a rifle.” she added to calm the artifact of death collector.

  “And here I was trying to calm Dalton down. How bad are these Drifters?” Tank asked.

  “They wander in close to town sometimes, but you were right to calm him. They are mindless and roam the badlands mostly.” Cambria responded.

  “Are you crying?” Selina asked as Dalton indeed teared up a bit, quickly blaming it on the house liquor through hand motions.

  “It's just that Roman was a good friend and now he's a Hunter. One of the walking dead and it's a hard pill to swallow.” Dalton finally replied.

  Well this Roman sounds like a good enough guy. But the way you beat him in a blade fight and turned the Hunters away single-handed, that's amazing.” Selina remarked.

  “Thanks babe. It wasn't easy. All I had was a blade and a six-shot revolver, but eventually I sent about twenty of the bastards to the grave or running. Got bored with it all to tell you the truth, and that's when I found myself here.” Dalton said, lying without reserve.

  “In fact, I drew slow on Johnny on purpose. I wanted to see his hand to holster motion, so the next time we meet I'll be well prepared.” Dalton said, further piling onto the heap of cattle shit verbiage.

  “That's amazing.” Selina said as she wrapped both of her near glowing arms around the waist of the brown coat wearing weaver of lies.

  And the day continued, falling slowing into the clutches of night as a fully starred sky draped above Geartown.

  The Trading Post continued to see newcomers to its establishment as the daily airships and roar of a steam powered train brought more outlanders to Geartown. For such a small town, it was booming around the clock with brand new faces. Some in search of smuggling work, just as Cambria and her crew were. Others arriving for the thrill of the hunt, or even just to visit such a beautifully crafted society of simplistic living.

  You could always pick the outlanders from a crowd as they stopped to see what the loud noise of the incoming train
actually was. Geartown citizens had grown so used to the iron passenger train screeching into the heart of town that they continued with their routine without pause. For everyone else, the commanding sound of iron sliding recklessly on steel rails was piercing.

  The train came complete with a shotgun toting soldier in the front compartment and a heavily armed rear platform. A gatling style mini-gun was mounted to the rear with four soldiers who stood heavily armed. The train, and others like it, made their way between Geartown and several other towns. Each separated by The Badlands.

  The rolling hills of high grass and thick trees had earned its name for a reason. Drifters roamed, sometimes in groups of four or five through The Badlands, not to mention criminals. Gangs led by Johnny Edmonds and his type, and sometimes they felt the need to take a train by force; robbing its passengers, while stripping the steam engine of any valuable armor and weaponry.

  The Royal Army, which was the military backbone of the Drifts, sometimes routed supplies through The Badlands as well. Of course they knew of outlaw activity in the area, but such an underfunded army was already stretched to its limit. And so the trains served as both a transportation system and armored supply vehicle.

  A couple hours after arriving, Cambria and her group had returned to the Trading Post, sitting at the far side this time in order to afford Dalton some personal space.

  “I'll never understand what he sees in women like that.” Cambria said as she watched Dalton continue his conversation with Selina.

  It was at that very moment that Dalton casually slid his hand down to Selina's ass, prompting Cambria to adopt a look of disgust across her face.

  “Well, if you don't understand, I'd be glad to explain it to you in detail.” Tank said as Skulls chuckled a bit while Whiskey barked.

  Even the flea-induced warrior of a four-legged variety knew the game. And though Dalton was the one about to score, Whiskey knew that when he did, it put the smuggler into a great mood. Which meant a healthy leg of finely-cooked meat and possibly even some smooth hootch. A good complimentary prize to a long night spent swimming under cheap hotel linen.

  “No, that's quite alright. Spare me the details.” Cambria said with sarcasm.

  Her look of sarcasm quickly vanished, turning ghostly white as everyone inside of the Trading Post heard it. The warning tower bell rang once. Quiet fell through the building as everyone listened closely, a single shot firing from the sniper's rifle inside of the tower.

  “Tessa 112.” Skulls said. “Accurate but weak, they should be using better.” he added.

  Normally the bell would toll once more, letting the people of Geartown know that the Drifter was down and they were safe. But not this time. The bell began to ring continuously as several shots rang out from both the sniper's rifle and a shotgun held by the tower's other stationed soldier.

  Panic of the unknown quickly set in as everyone inside of the Trading Post stood up and began running to the door in search of answers. And answers they got, watching a group of Drifters climb the wooden tower while a larger and more coordinated group made its way into town.

  Nearly two hundred of them total. Some of the citizens and outlanders began firing their weapons into the crowd of Drifters, while most simply fled as quickly as possible, sprinting for any building that was still located on the side of town the Drifters had yet to reach.

  As the creaking of wood led to the large warning tower falling quickly to the ground below, Dalton grabbed Selina's arm.

  “Stay here!” he said with compassion. “Everyone, stay here!” he yelled, catching the attention of his crew and a handful of citizens who were ready to flee.

  “Close those goddamn doors! Now! Get 'em locked up and start piling anything in front of the windows you can!” Dalton yelled, knowing deep down if there was one place in town designed to keep people out, it was the Trading Post.

  It didn't matter the planet, the town or the situation. Through his years of experience, Dalton had learned that society went out of its way to protect both money and hooch, putting them smack dab in the best location for survival.

  “Hate the fucking undead.” Dalton mumbled as he shoved a large table closer to the door.

  “He's right,” Cambria replied. “This is the one building in town with all of the valuables. Thicker walls, doors and very few points of entry.” she added, talking loudly as screams accompanied gunshots outside.

  “Nothing to worry about my rosy red ass!” Dalton added with anger, upset over another showdown with those who knew life after death.

  As the majority of those few lucky citizens inside began pulling the furniture to the door, doing their absolute best to blockade the entrance, a heavy knocking came.

  “Help me...please!” a man cried out, continuing to relentlessly beat his fist on the door.

  “Go on! Get! Gonna bring them 'sumbitches over here in hordes!” Dalton responded with anger.

  “Please, I have a child!” the man replied.

  “Ah shit.” Dalton mumbled as he opened the door just slightly, catching sight of the man holding an infant.

  “Move this clutter out of the way!” Dalton yelled to those inside as he pulled his revolver to the ready.

  Tank joined him at the door, shotgun in hand as they both waited for the citizens to once again move the heavy furniture. Dalton expected to see the undead as the door opened once again. He had studied the poster at the transport station, even heard the bell tower ringing.

  But as the door opened to allow the man and his child a safe place to hide, Dalton's arm dropped down to his side; still holding the revolver in hand.

  “Oh my God.” he managed to push from his lungs as Whiskey stood at his feet, both of them witness to hundreds of Drifters killing citizens in the streets. Mutilating their bodies, climbing the exterior walls of buildings in order to reach windows and many of them pulled to the light that now shined outside through the open Trading Post door.

  As a large pack began sprinting to the open door with unnatural speed, Dalton shakily pulled his revolver to the ready. Firing all six shots in succession, five Drifters fell to their deaths. Five headshots and one miss, not bad work in the pitch black of night while under the influence of alcohol.

  Two Drifters remained as they continued their sprint of immortal fury. Dalton had nearly made it back inside when they were on him, infected teeth prepared to dig into his duster smothered flesh.

  The first Drifter quickly became nothing more than dead flesh as Tank fired his shotgun, the Zombie's head dissipating into a fine red mist. The last remaining Drifter of the group lunged, though its entire body was nearly cut in half by a single shell fired by Skulls. The sniper had mounted his bolt-action Salvation rifle to a table at the far end of the Trading Post, using its front end tripod to balance the heavy weapon.

  The gunshots had done away with the small pack, but gained the attention of every remaining Drifter; at least two hundred turning to sprint into the direction of the Trading Post as more of the undead arrived to Geartown. Yet Dalton stood for a moment, simply in shock at how many Zombies were closing in on them.

  “Better,” Dalton said, still holding his empty revolver. “Better be getting inside and putting as much between us and them as possible.” he added calmly, shock having numbed his usual panic.

  As Dalton staggered back inside, Tank quickly secured the door and began helping the citizens pull the heaviest furniture back in an attempt to barricade themselves in. Dalton staggered to the bar, empty revolver in hand and hanging by his side.

  “Are you alright?” Cambria asked.

  Usually full of life and sarcasm, Dalton simply sat on a bar stool, grabbing a bottle of whiskey without even a hint of reply.

  “Dalton. Are you alright?” Cambria asked again, a bit more firmly as she sat down beside him on a stool of her own.

  “Just fine.” he replied calmly.

  Cambria looked down at Whiskey long enough for the pooch to respond with a concerned bark, wet whiske
rs flaring wildly.

  “Dalton. I need you to be alright. We all do. You are the only one here with enough military experience to see us through this.” Cambria said.

  “We're going to die.” Dalton replied in a calm voice, throwing back a shot of the hellacious brown hootch.

  “Hey,” Cambria said, moving a bit closer while lowering her voice. “I need you to be positive.” she added.

  “Oh I am,” Dalton said as he took another shot. Screams of the dead began to blare throughout the Trading Post as dozens of Drifters beat and clawed the wooden door of the large building. “I'm positive we are going to die.” Dalton added.

  Cambria stood up slowly, taken back by the submissive attitude of such a seasoned warrior. Maybe it was meant for them to die, no hope of surviving to speak of. Still, she knew someone had to take charge of the situation. At least give everyone the faint possibility of hope.

  “Talk to Dalton. See if you can get his head back into the game.” Cambria said to Tank in a low voice as the dead continued their quest to find a way indoors.

  Cambria then turned her attention to Skulls, who's eye remained pressed to the telescopic lens of his rifle's scope.

  “Good job staying focused Trevor. Just keep your eye on that door, you are literally our last line of defense if something goes wrong.” Cambria said softly.

  Though Skulls acknowledged her statement, his eye remained on the scope. A few others stood near the door, their pistols at the ready. But even Skulls knew they would delay the Zombies, at best, if they somehow got inside.

  “What are we supposed to do?” Selina asked loudly, her words frantic as the noisy dead continued their job of trying to rip through the wood. Cambria turned to answer her, though it was a question in the minds of all sixteen surviving citizens.

  “I...I don't...” Cambria began to reply, sharply cut off by Dalton James.

  “We need to collect as much damn firepower as we can find. Guns, ammunition and if it comes down to it we can even make a few Molotov Cocktails,” he said, motioning to the large collection of man drink inside of the Trading Post. “Need to put a bulk of our firepower at the door. It's the only way they can funnel in, and it's a strategic choke point in our favor.” Dalton added as Cambria began to smile a bit.