Strange Dominion

by Lyons, Amanda M.

  Strange Dominion: Weird Tales of the Wild West

  Edited by

  Amanda M. Lyons and John Ledger

  Edited by: J. Ellington Ashton Press Staff

  Cover Art by: Michael Fisher

  http://jellingtonashton.com/

  Copyright.

  Sharon L. Higa, Essel Pratt, Richard D. Ramsey, Michael Fisher, R.E. Lyons, Christine Morgan, Dona Fox, Kevin Henry, Scot Rinehart, Kent Hill, Charie D. LaMarr, Mark Woods, Dani Brown, Amanda M. Lyons, Michael Noe, Andrew Bell, Juan Julio Gutierrez

  ©2016, Authors

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book, including the cover and photos, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. All rights reserved.

  Any resemblance to persons, places living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Table of Contents

  Preacher Bridges- Sharon L. Higa

  Plague of Man - Essel Pratt

  Oregon Trail – Richard D. Ramsey

  The Dark Man – Michael Fisher

  Ghostly Tale of the Old West – R. E. Lyons

  The Crossing At Bony Ford – Christine Morgan

  Devil’s Ridge – Dona Fox

  Revenge of the Phantom Strange – Kevin Henry

  Relentless – Scot Rinehart

  That Bastard Loner – Kent Hill

  The Doctor Comes to Bee Sting, or, Good Vibrations – Charie D. LaMarr

  Homeward Bound (A Tale of the Weird Wild West) – Mark Woods

  Last Horse of a Different Color – Dani Brown

  Strange Dominion – Amanda M. Lyons

  Sundown – Michael Noe

  Through the Flames of Monaghan County – Andrew Bell

  The Ghosts of Amen – Juan Julio Guitierrez

  Preacher Bridges

  Sharon L. Higa

  The stallion snorted, his uneasiness evident in his laid back ears, dancing hooves, and arched tail. The dust covered man in the saddle patted his mount’s neck reassuringly. “Easy, there, Zeus, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just an old town.”

  An old, abandoned, empty town, Preacher muttered to himself. He had to acknowledge the big roan’s nervousness. He didn’t feel too good about having to travel through here either.

  Horse and rider stood in the middle of the road that led into town. This street was the only way that one could get to the other side and on down the trail. All around, the town was surrounded by cactus, ocotillo bushes, and tumbleweeds. The occasional rattle and hissing also spoke of living danger hidden in the dense brush. Preacher Bridges had no intention of putting either himself or Zeus in harm’s way.

  Patting the pacing stallion one more time, Preacher clucked and leaned forward, sliding the reins gently along the massive beasts’ neck. Trusting in his human’s judgment, but still ever on the alert, the roan pranced forward. His attempts at breaking into a trot were stilled by the man astride him. Massive hooves churned up the arable ground, forming a little dust cloud around his belly, covering the man’s stirrups and boots. Zeus snorted, ears swiveling back and forth, head tossing, eyes rolling from one side of the street to the other.

  Preacher was pretty much doing the same thing. His posture in the saddle was loose, moving in rhythm with the horse’s stride, but ready for anything. He hadn’t travelled this country for the past fifteen years and not picked up a thing or two. That was why his scalp was still in one piece and still attached to his noggin.

  Nonchalantly, he reached down and unsnapped the leather strap holding his rifle in its case. He also touched the pair of pistols in their grips around his hips. Reassured that he was able to reach his weapons should the need arise, Preacher gently nudged Zeus’s sides, urging him to pick up his pace. The roan colored stud didn’t have to be told twice.

  The buildings were faded and weather worn, time and the seasons having taken its toll on the once thriving town. Preacher could just make out the wooden shingle of the saloon, bat wing doors hanging ajar. A broken chair and table were wedged in the front window, as if they’d been thrown through during one last brawl, and - will wonders never cease - cash and coin still lay in piles on the card tables inside.

  The jail windows still had their bars, but the door looked like it had been blown off with a stick of dynamite, clinging in shreds and tatters to the door frame. The desk was overturned, smears of what appeared to be dried, brown sludge splattered all over the floor and wreckage within.

  As they walked on down the main street, Preacher could see that furniture still inhabited the other dwellings; the mercantile shelves were still stocked with bolts of rotted material, canned jars filled with milky fluid. Bet that would sure let off one heck of a stink, Preacher mused. A hawk screeched overhead and the man looked up. He saw the huge predator circling the outskirts, hunting for prey, but for the few minutes he watched, the bird never entered the perimeter of the town. In fact, it seemed to the man that the bird was doing everything in its power to avoid the town altogether.

  Whatever hit this town hit it fast. Preacher kept his thoughts to himself, instinctively trying not to make any untoward noise. Zeus, he noticed, was doing the same. The horse was fast walking in complete silence, keeping his gait smooth so that even the stirrups would not slap against the cinch.

  The hairs on the back of Preacher’s neck suddenly rose up. He glanced around, searching for the danger, then brought his attention forward once more. He and Zeus were approaching the end of town. The church and cemetery were the last vestiges of civilization, situated a little back and to the right of the main street. Preacher’s internal alarms jangled loud and clear.

  Before he could put heels to Zeus’s sides, a horde of what had once been human beings came pouring out of the church doors. Grunting and groaning, they stumble-staggered and stiff- gait walked toward the man and horse, rotted arms stretched out, decaying fingers grasping the air, teeth gnashing in garish anticipation of living flesh.

  Like a lightning bolt, Preacher wrapped the reins around the pommel of his saddle and whipped out his pistols. That was the horse’s signal- Zeus knew exactly what to do. The huge stallion reared, then lunged forward, front hooves slashing and pounding, powerful hind quarters thrusting him forward, knocking the deaduns hither and yon.

  Preacher began shooting into the faces and heads of the horde. His aim was steady and true, hitting the mark every single time. Zeus wended his way through the men, women, and children, using his body to turn when he found an empty space and spin back into the fray. Preacher kept the guns roaring, using the speed loaders he had attached to his vest belt; neither flinching nor missing a beat.

  After ten minutes, the deaduns were demolished; rotted body parts strewn across the street, crushed skulls flattened into the dust. Stinking, decayed gore covered the ground, horse, and man.

  Preacher slid out of the saddle and pulled his rifle from the case. Slowly and methodically, he walked among the bodies, dispensing those still twitching with one swift shot.

  He searched the rest of the church and found no others. Satisfied, he turned to the next task. Preacher glanced up at the sun, calculating that he still had time to finish what he needed to do.

  Finding a shovel at the back of the church, Preacher dug a pit in the middle of the cemetery’s hallowed ground. Using old burlap sacks from the mercantile and the livery, he picked up the remains of the townspeople who had once made this a
thriving community and deposited them into the pit. He piled chunks of broken furniture along with some of the bolts of cloth from the store on top of the now-still corpses. Pouring a can of kerosene over the top, he lit the wick of a lamp and tossed it in. The flames caught, then shot ten feet into the air. The former civil war soldier turned deaduns hunter stepped back from the edge of the pit and the mounting conflagration.

  Nodding in satisfaction, Preacher led Zeus over to the water trough and sent up a silent prayer. He had to prime the pump quite a few times, but finally clear water came gushing out.

  He spent the better part of an hour cleaning Zeus and himself off, casting glances at the funeral pyre still blazing away. Finally satisfied with the cleanup job, he left Zeus to drink his fill and walked over to the now smoldering pit. He stared down into the last resting place of the townsfolk, then began to fill the pit back in with dirt. Packing the last of it down with the back of the shovel, Preacher scrounged around once more and found a wooden cross. He pounded it in at one end of the pit then tossed the shovel aside.

  Zeus was standing by the trough, nibbling at stray bits of hay and grass. Preacher gently pushed the horse aside, then dunked his head and shoulders into the trough, drinking deep. Pulling his head up, he shook off the excess water and re-saddled the horse.

  Dusk was just coming on when man and horse reached the outskirts of town. Preacher reined Zeus in and dismounted for one last time.

  Pulling out a piece of charcoal, he stepped up to the sign bearing the town’s name:

  DEAD MAN’S END

  and quickly scrawled a word across the width of the sign.

  Tossing the charcoal back into his saddlebag, he quickly mounted and set Zeus into a canter. He only glanced back once, to make sure his message was legible. It was.

  The name of the town had been blacked out with one word:

  CLEARED

  Man and horse headed off into the desert for some much needed rest.

  Plague of Man

  Essel Pratt

  “Looks like a storm is coming in,” said James.

  “I dunno,” said Daniel. “Them clouds look funny to me.”

  “I don’t care how funny they look, we ain’t had a downpour in damn near six months and the river just ain’t giving the land enough water anymore,” said James.

  In the western horizon a massive black cloud blocked out the morning sun. The massive wall was approaching faster that they had first thought. A line of thirsty trees in the distance were swallowed up by the storm, hiding them from sight.

  “We need to head back into town and tell everyone to take shelter. This storm looks dangerous,” said Daniel.

  “Look at that. I don’t think those are rain clouds, it looks like dirt and dust whipping around in there.” said James. “We better hurry!”

  “I think you’re right, it’s a dust storm. Dammit, that’s the last thing we need right now,” said Daniel.

  The stagnant air erupted with an onslaught of wind, sending the dry farmland whipping up around them.

  “Dammit, I can’t see anything, the dust is getting in my eyes,” said James as he jumped up onto his black horse, covering his eyes with a handkerchief.

  Daniel didn’t say a word as he mounted his horse and kicked its hindquarters to urge it forward. He looked back as his steed galloped toward town, quickly steering his head forward again to keep his eyes clear of debris.

  The massive storm to their rear took on an ominous shape, the large mass blocked out the noon sun, creating the atmosphere of a moonless night. Within the storm’s gut, a pulsating black nucleus rolled upon itself as the winds increased in intensity, picking up large pebbles and flinging them through the air, pelting the two men upon their backs.

  “Hyeah,” yelled Daniel, kicking his horse for an increase in speed.

  James followed suit and both horses ran as fast as their legs would take them. They ran full speed for nearly two miles until they reached the outskirts of the small Arizona town. The gritty roads were empty, except for a stray dog and some wandering chickens.

  “Head to the saloon, the others will probably be there in the cellar,” said Daniel as he steered his horse to the south, followed closely by James.

  Within minutes, both men arrived at the saloon and jumped off of their steeds, not bothering to tie them to the post, and rushed in through the swinging doors. They could hear the horses galloping away into the darkness, searching out safety; neither attempted to call the trusty steeds back home.

  “Where y’all at?” yelled Daniel into the empty room, his voice echoing upon the bare walls.

  “They gotta be in the cellar,” said James as he wandered behind the bar to pull open the door that led downward.

  Before he could bend over to grasp the latch, footsteps ascended the wooden stairs toward the back of the room. Their heavy thumps were unmistakable.

  “Bout time you boys get here,” said a deep raspy voice.

  “Devlin, where the hell is everyone?” asked Daniel in a raised voice.

  The winds were picking up again, rattling the shutters on the windows and sending more dust and debris into the front swinging doors.

  “Boys, we need to get out there and bring the carts from out by the mill,” Devlin continued walking toward the door, holding onto his hat as the wind tried to steal it from atop his head.

  “Are you crazy?” yelled James. “That damn storm is gonna rip this town apart!”

  “He’s right, though,” replied Daniel. “That’s all the food we’s got for the season, if we let the storm get it, we’ll all die of starvation.”

  “What about the other men?” asked James.

  “They’ve all cowered in the cellar, claiming their protectin’ the women and kids,” said Devlin as he spit onto the floor. “We don’t have time to mess with them now; we’ll deal with their coward asses when this is all over.”

  Devlin wandered outside and quickened his pace toward the edge of town where the grain carts were left. The winds fought hard to hold him back, but he pushed forward, Daniel and James close behind. Each held their handkerchiefs tightly to their face, squinting their eyes to keep as much debris out as possible. Their attempts were in vain as they were pelted without remorse by an onslaught of rocks and tumbleweeds.

  “Hurry, boys,” yelled Devlin as he motioned James and Daniel forward with his right hand. His voice was lost in the storm’s grumbles.

  There were four carts near the mill, waiting to be ground into flour for breads and other dinner items. Three were overflowing with the year’s crops, the other barely filled halfway. Without horses, moving the carts was going to be difficult, but the wind was at their backs to help them along. Each man grabbed a full cart and strained to coerce the wheels to move.

  Devlin yelled out, “Put some muscle into it, boys, we only need to get them to the bar down yonder, won’t take much to get them inside.”

  The wind ravaged their backs with a force that made it difficult to stand, pushing their bodies tightly against the carts; yet the wheels would not move. Devlin and Daniel fought their way over to James’ cart and hoped the three of them could get his started, giving in to teamwork to save their food supply. As they shoved forward, the forceful wind tipped the other three carts over, spilling the wheat onto the ground and soaring into the air.

  “Dammit!” yelled Devlin as he pushed with all his might on the last cart, but to no avail. It wouldn’t budge. “Come on guys, try harder!”

  They strained with all their might, fighting for the survival of all the town folk that made the sacrifice to move out west and make a new home for their families, refusing to be defeated by Mother Nature’s wraith.

  Then, without warning, the wind stopped. Stillness consumed the atmosphere and the men fell to the ground, weary from the battle.

  “I feel like I’ve just wrestled a bear,” said James. “I need to rest for a second before we start cleanin’ up.”

  “Holy shit,” Daniel’s words trail
ed off.

  Devlin stood and glared in with his jaw agape. “What the hell?” he said under his breath.

  James and Daniel both stood and approached him, both perplexed by what they saw. The storm’s wall was viciously wrapped around the entire town, as though they were in the eye of a hurricane. Sand and stone rushed through the chaos, still blocking out the sun, creating a wall that prevented escape. Directly west, the direction they faced, the black mass continued to pulsate within the chaos, rolling in upon itself and increasing in size with each second that passed.

  The men were speechless, they did not move a muscle as the storm took on a peculiar shape, seemingly birthing a creature within the mass. Two trunk-like legs thumped downward form the black mass, vibrating the ground beneath them. A solid torso rose toward the heavens, sprouting arm-like appendages that flowed like the tentacles of an octopus, upon the thick neck, a bulbous head emerged with more tentacle-like appendages drooping from its strong chin. A thundering buzzing sound accompanied its creation, bringing the creature to life right before their eyes.

  “What the Hell?” Devlin managed to grunt out.

  The figure raised its arms to the sky, its eyes glowing green like a tornado warned sky, glancing down upon the three men. Neither James nor Daniel said a word; instead they each took a step backward behind Devlin.

  The creature stared intently at the men, its arms writhing within the storm, keeping the chaos outside at bay. Its plan was unpredictable and the men were anxious for its next move. They did not speak out against its lingering will, nor did they motion their desire for it to recede from their presence. Instead, they simply abided by its gaze, awaiting what fate would deal.

  The buzzing sound intensified to the point the men covered their ears as pain infested their heads. Each dropped to their knees, still staring upward at the beast, the volume increasing ever more until cupping their ears did not dampen the pain. Then, as with the wind earlier, the buzzing stopped and was replaced by silence.