Strange Dominion

by Lyons, Amanda M.

  On February 4th two men came to the Sheriff’s office in Tucson. The first to arrive was a very large barrel-shaped ugly man with a thick bushy beard wearing a long coat and riding a painted horse. He entered the office and announced his arrival.

  “Name’s Andromalius, I’m tracking The Hell Bent,” Andromalius said with a grin and a half smoked cheroot.

  “You alone?” the Sheriff asked.

  “You see anyone else?” Andromalius asked.

  “Now why in thunder would you go after them alone? That’d be a dangerous thing abisselfa, but to do it alone.” the Sheriff said.

  “He ain’t alone. In case you didn’t understand the man, abisselfa means by itself. He ain’t from these parts, Sheriff,” said another big man in a long coat that just came in the door, this one muscular and cleaner cut.

  “Jerahmeel!” Andromalius began.

  “Jeremiah Stone, Sheriff. Don’t mind Andy, he ain’t seen me in about a thousand years.” Stone interrupted.

  “How many men riding with you?” the Sheriff asked.

  “Andy has about thirty-six thousand at his disposal,” Stone said, watching the smile grow on the Sheriff’s face. “But this time out just us two.” And the smile ran from the Sheriff’s face like a scalded cat.

  “Now see here, you boys better be above-board, or I’m locking the both of you in jail until you sober up.” The Sheriff said upset.

  “You and what army?” Andromalius said, snatching a stack of wanted posters for The Hell Bent off of the desk before heading out the door. Stone followed.

  “What do you need those for?” Stone asked.

  “Rolling papers.” Andromalius answered, mounting his horse.

  Stone climbed aboard his large black Friesian stallion with a large sack tied behind the saddle and a longer one on its right. A Winchester Golden Boy was also on the right side, while a Sharps was tied to the left. Stone was well armed.

  “I don’t need your help sending them back to Hell.” Andromalius protested.

  “Afraid of the competition? I can back it, don’t need a woman’s help.” Stone taunted.

  “You’re poking the wrong bear. That takes a set the size of cannonballs.” Andromalius said, sounding angry.

  “I’ll admit there is some chafing.” Stone replied, laughing.

  Andromalius laughed too, lightening up, and they headed past the abandons selling their bodies on the street, and south out of town in pursuit of their prey. Now Andromalius is a Count in Hell, and seventy-second in the hierarchy. When Stone quipped about thirty-six thousand at his disposal, he was referring to Andromalius’ thirty-six legions in Hell, but despite his ranking, he still gets his orders from Duke Dantalion, who sent him after these escaped souls.

  Jeremiah Stone, on the other hand, is the fallen angel Jerahmeel, his name meaning “he shall receive the forgiveness of God”. Jerahmeel, also known as the demon Azazel, is not confined to Hell like the rest, which pisses Andromalius off to no end, and under his human alias of Jeremiah Stone, hunts demon and monster alike as he tries to earn God’s forgiveness

  Andromalius rode a horse from his stables in Hell, while Stone rode Night Wind who was his when he was still an angel. They both knew The Hell Bent were south of Tucson as they smelled the stench of the undead for miles around. As they reached the Santa Domingo Rail Line they found their prey robbing a train and giving the Army a taste of Hell. They spurred their mounts on towards the battle.

  As they neared Andromalius fired his Henry lever-action at random undead targets, killing Adrian Dimitry, a dead rapist, with his first shot, the body burning away like flour into a fire as those who escape Hell do. Stone hadn’t fired a shot from what he could tell, but he was too busy killing to care. The next to fall to Andromalius was Buck Bridges, who ran with the Savage Gang until they died in Perdition. Then Armand Williams, a slothful ex-Confederate soldier turned mercenary who deserved his time in Hell.

  Suddenly a cannonball landed near Andromalius and exploded. The demon known only as the Brute had joined this hellish band, and now the misshapen giant was firing Army cannons at them from a flatbed car like they were shotguns. Three more cannonballs landed nearby, and he looked around for Stone.

  “Stone, where in the name of Hell are you?” Andromalius shouted.

  A loud blast sounded near him that wasn’t a cannonball and the Brute dropped the cannon he was about to fire, burning cinders. The Brute’s cannon fired and ignited whole kegs of gunpowder on the flatbed, killing Big John Rose, who beheaded dwarves, children, and anyone smaller than him; Jim Kroffat, who sold guns to the Apache; Gama Jeet Singh, the Thughee assassin; and The Warrior Yagi, a demon possessed samurai. Turning back around, Andromalius saw Stone with his punt gun resting on Night Wind’s back. With that he had killed the Brute as only flame, sanctified ammunition, or mystically altered weapons like the guns they both carried could. Punt guns could kill fifty ducks per shot and were banned in the late 1860s for being unsportsmanlike.

  The remaining Hell Bent took to their horses and fled from the other side of the train. Stone left his punt gun and remounted Night Wind, Andromalius had remounted as well. Before they could reach the train it exploded. Delayed by the burning train, they would have to pick up the trail again, but in the meantime helped soldiers and passengers escape.

  Afterwards they travelled with the soldiers to Ft. Huaquin.

  At the fort, word was that a patrol had noticed a large amount of hoof prints crossing the Mule Train Trail north of there, heading east. Stone and Andromalius headed due east, to Little Peking, a small community of Chinese created when they worked on the railroads. What they found when they arrived was a massacre. Every living soul in Little Peking had been murdered even women, children, and old ones.

  The trail continued east, towards Tombstone, then southwards into Superstition Valley. They followed the trail across the sands, discarded food and the bodies of Chinese girls being picked upon by vultures. They entered Gila Wash and turned west, following the tracks as they continued through San Paulo Gulch. The trail eventually headed southwest, to the Orion’s Belt Mine.

  Here they found another massacre, but it was clear their prey had just been there. Bodies were everywhere, and buildings burned to the ground, fires still raging out of control. The trail left the mining camp out of the south gate and headed back east again, but before they could leave the camp they came under fire from atop the hill by at least six guns. They jumped off of the horses to let them run, Stone taking the roll on Night Wind’s back before diving for cover. Andromalius began firing until Stone waved him off.

  “What the Hell you doing, choir boy? Shoot!” Andromalius growled.

  “Save your bullets. Let them think our bacon’s cooked and wait them out.” Stone replied.

  Andromalius saw the wisdom in this and waited quietly, getting belly low to the ground to scope out the ambusher’s movements. The shooters kept firing for about twelve minutes, until they decided to check for signs of life. They sent Angelo Ramos, a Mexican assassin that killed members of the Tong in San Francisco. As Angelo crept forward, Stone motioned for Andromalius to take him silently. When Angelo reached the rocks, Andromalius snatched his rifle away and held his Bowie knife to Angelo’s throat. On Andromalius’ orders Angelo waved the others over. He was then pulled forward and knocked out instead of igniting his corpse.

  After the others had come far enough from their cover, Stone stood tall, Gatling gun in his hands, and a belt of bullets dangling to the ground, firing at the undead, rounds ripping through them, sending them back to Hell. Down went Eddie Kelly of the Savage Gang; Leo Meyers, the ruthless owner of several brothels; Ormand Adonis, the Greek smuggler that helped move opium for the Tongs; Steven Little Bear, also of the Savage Gang; and Black Avenger, the former slave turned mass murderer. Angelo was gutted last, and Stone discarded the Gatling.

  As soon as their horses returned to them, they mounted up and picked up the trail again, heading east. They reached the ghost t
own of Hayesville, and encountered another ambush. Stone slipped his cut down double barrel from beneath his coat and killed Eric Watts, the child killer of the Savage Gang, while Andromalius killed Sonny Williams, the crooked Sheriff with his stage coach shotgun, and then Mike Morrow of the Savage Gang with another blast. Stone killed Savage Gang member Dennis Kelly with a blast from his other barrel. There weren’t any more ambushers to deal with, and after a search of the town to confirm, they headed out again.

  The trail went south, along what was then called Copperhead Cliffs, and crossed the tracks of the Southern Pacific Railroad, running west from Tombstone to Patagonia, and further south until they reached Mexico del Norte, a Mexican town just north of the border centered on the ruins of a mission.

  Another massacre had occurred, leaving no one alive, not even the livestock. Was this their last raid on this side of the border? The answer was no, as the trail now turned west. But it was turning night, and they had ridden their horses hard, no doubt so had the Hell Bent. Night Wind could take it, but not the horse Andromalius was riding. They should have grabbed a replacement from one of the dead. There was no telling just how far the Hell Bent had managed to get while they had dealt with the train earlier, but it was a sure bet that they would need to stop as well.

  Andromalius made a fire, and Stone pulled two bottles of whiskey from his saddle bags. He tossed a bottle to Andromalius and had a seat in the desert dirt.

  “Where do you think they’re headed?” Andromalius asked.

  “Nogales maybe, or nowhere in particular. They aren’t doing like other bands of outlaws do, where you hit something and hole up with the caboodle getting drunk and planning the next go round. These boys are livin’ up to the name Hell Bent, but Hell bent on what is the question. One thing for certain, they sure are havin’ a hog-killin’ time.” Stone replied.

  “What the Hell does that mean? This English is difficult enough without weird things being added to it.” Andromalius complained before drinking some whiskey.

  “It’s the way they talk these days, especially here in the west. It takes some getting used to.” Stone answered.

  “You have any more of those fancy guns of yours? I imagine we’re going to be needing them. Even if they don’t have sanctified bullets, which I assume they don’t, their regular bullets could put us down long enough to separate our heads from our shoulders,” Andromalius mentioned.

  “All of the big guns are gone, but I have an ace in the hole or two left to me.” Stone added.

  “So what’s the plan then?” Andromalius asked.

  “My plan is to get some sleep and pick up the trail again at first light.” Stone answered.

  “What? Our kind doesn’t need sleep. We should be after them right now.” Andromalius argued.

  “We don’t need it, but it sure is nice. Besides,although Night Wind can on without tiring, that horse of yours is more vulnerable to breaking a leg in a gopher hole or falling in a ravine. Their horses, on the other hand, are all Earth horses, and are probably tired at this point. They ain’t goin’ anywhere tonight. And the desert winds blow a bit different at night, makin’ their scent a bit harder to follow. We can track them better in the morning.” Stone answered and laid back to get some rest.

  “Well I knew that, I just wanted to see if you did.” Andromalius said before laying down himself.

  The following morning, they took up the trail again as the Sun began to rise, the trail coming within pistol range of the border of Mexico. It was there they ran into a group of Mexican banditos, and Andromalius prepared for battle. These weren’t their prey, but they would do for now.

  “Hold on, I know these pistoleros. Hola, Sanchez!” Stone shouted to the leader of the Mexican bandits.

  “Amigo!” Sanchez shouted back before riding over to them.

  “If you have come about the money I owe you, then you are one fortunate hombre. I have just relieved the Mexican Army of extra money they did not need anymore.” Sanchez tossed him a bag from a Mexican bank. “Or are you coming to see my sister, Sarita? She keeps begging me to find you. She wants to be your wife, I think, amigo.”

  “Sanchez, this is Andromalius. Andromalius this is Dirty Sanchez. Sarita would make a right fine wife there Sanchez, but me and Andy here are hunting the Hell Bent. Looks like their trail runs into El Dos Diablos over there. Even though it’s running dry, there’s enough water there to mask their trail a bit, any idea where they might be heading?” Stone asked.

  “Across Dos Diablos, up El Madre de Sangre, there is a cave. It leads straight through to a crevice that outlaws built a little town in. The town is called Hell’s Ass Crack. We all go there, and in the town is a mine shaft that leads through to the Gutiérrez Hacienda. Senor Gutiérrez and his family have been prisoners in their own hacienda for about five years or so. We would set them free, but the gringos outnumber us.” Sanchez explained.

  “If you’re willing to ride with us, they ain’t going to outnumber you today. Hell’s Ass Crack will be yours, and I’m sure the Gutiérrez family will appreciate your saving them. Think of it, you know how to get us in, and we know how to kill the Hell Bent, who have probably killed the other outlaws by now anyway. What do you say?” Stone asked.

  “Si, we ride with you today. Muchachos, we are riding straight up Hell’s Ass Crack and killing us some gringos.” Sanchez announced and took off towards Dos Diablos. Stone was glad that it didn’t take much convincing.

  They crossed what was left of the low flowing river and up into the mountains. El Madre de Sangre grew larger as they neared, nestled between two other mountains. Approaching from the south, they climbed and came around to the east face. The tracks of the Hell Bent led straight into a large cavern. Sanchez sent a man ahead to let the sentries know who they were. The man was gunned down when he started talking. His killer stepped out into the light, confident that he was out of range. Stone proved him wrong with a shot from his Sharps long range rifle. The Hell Bent he killed was Jack Bence, who had been dead for years.

  The banditos charged into the cavern and met with some opposition. Six of Sanchez’s men died going in, and the banditos guns were useless against the Hell Bent. Andromalius grinned at the expectation of new members to his legions. Between him and Stone they killed the Hell Bent guards in the cavern. Andromalius killed Dan Regan, who liked to bomb churches, and Ron Stall, who died of hanging a number of years back. Stone killed Rich Froelich, late of the Savage Gang, and Paddy Ryan, a minor Irish demon turned soul collecting gambler.

  The bandits pushed on through the cavern into Hell’s Ass Crack, a little confused by the hombres that just burst into flames. Gunshots echoed throughout the cavern as the bandits met with resistance, and as Stone reached the town he saw that even Sanchez had been killed. Guns blazing, Andromalius and Stone eliminated the men trying to kill them.

  Andromalius shot Sean Wells, the Dodge City assassin off of a roof, and then killed Bruiser Costa, the Mexican brawler. Stone sent Gene Lewis, a two-bit thief, back to Hell, followed by Roy McClarty, another hanged man, and Tiger Adonis, Ormand’s middle brother. Andromalius took out the next wave, killing Hiro Tomko, the ninja in the group, and then the gunfighter known as The Pro after taking a bullet himself, the non-sanctified bullet doing very little harm. Dale Brown, the crooked banker, took a shot to the head from Stone, while Bull Venture, the psychotic mountain man took one in the heart. Minutes later they discovered that all of the bandits had been killed, and the rest of the Hell Bent weren’t there.

  They proceeded through the mine tunnel, having to walk the horses through because of the low ceiling. Unbeknownst to them,a sentry in the tunnel who heard the shots had warned the majority of the Hell Bent living it up at the Gutiérrez residence. The Hell Bent left a small group there to run interference and to keep an eye on the Gutiérrez family.

  The two bounty hunters entered the hacienda and at first found everything quiet, searching room to room. They found two men guarding the family in the wine cellar.
Terry Madril, a cold-blooded killer that shoots people from behind, and George Davis, the kidnapper, were facing the wrong direction, talking to their captives.

  “Yoohoo!” Stone said, getting their attention. As they turned, Stone and Andromalius shot them both.

  “Gracias, señores, gracias,” Señor Gutiérrez said.

  “Which way did they go?” Andromalius asked.

  “North, senor, towards the Red Mountain.” was the answer.

  Not wasting any time, Stone and Andromalius mounted up and headed after them, north, through the big valley. After about twenty minutes on the trail they found the bodies of dead Apaches the Hell Bent had encountered. The Apache tracks came due south from the Red Mountain, but the Hell Bent tracks now headed northwest. Before they started off again one of the dying Apaches caught their attention.

  “Canyon.” he said, pointing the way they went. That was his last word.

  Expecting an ambush in the canyon, they split up, both taking a different side, Stone on the east side and Andromalius on the west, leaving the horses and climbing to the top of their respective sides. In preparation against the sentries on either side, both bounty hunters pulled their Bowie knives and came upon them while the sentries were looking down into the canyon. Stone killed Jesse Anson, the old Kentucky moonshiner, while Andromalius slit the throat of Don Leo Tolos, a corrupt Mexican land owner. Both went back to Hell. Stone found an Apache bow and arrows on Jesse along with a tomahawk. He quickly carved mystical runes into them.

  Moving further along the ridge, Stone saw several others on Andromalius’ side of the canyon. Using the bow, he quietly killed Rick Moretti, a small time thief from back in New York City. Then he put an arrow into the throat of Bulldog Bob Quinn, a stage driver that robbed his own passengers. Another arrow found John Morse, a murderous blacksmith. Andromalius came upon and dispatched Jimmy Jonathan, a young man that desired to be a gunslinger but had failed.