Contents
Billie the Kid
Author notes
Books
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Thank You
Billie the Kid
By
Paul Summerhayes
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Paul Summerhayes
All rights reserved.
Books by Paul Summerhayes:
Books in The Sky Fire Chronicles:
0.5. The Texan and the Egyptian (Prequel short story)
1. Billie the Kid
2. Doc Holliday, 2018
Books in the Dragon Stone Chronicles
1. The Dragon Stone
Books in the Warden Saga:
1. The King’s Warden
2. The Warden’s Sword
3. The Warden and the Shadow Queen
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Chapter 1
This is not our earth. This is not our history.
On this world, the Apocalypse came early.
Arizona Territory, 1869
Death stalks the wasteland between our dreams and our waking.
The sun stood at its highest, glaring down on the tall stranger who blew in from the west on a hot desert breeze. With each step, yellow dust billowed up around his black stallion’s legs like it walked on small clouds. The sound of the beast’s hooves resonated off the timber buildings with each footfall, tolling like a plague cart’s bell. The rider sat motionless on his stallion as the beast trudged toward the Law Office at the far end of town.
From behind the safety of locked doors, the local inhabitants watched the stranger pass. He had the look of trouble. They had seen his type before. Trouble was drawn to small towns along the borderlands and this town was no different. When the law wasn’t watching, bandits rode in from God knew where, looking to make a name for themselves—by intimidation, thieving, or murder. But to these cowering citizens, this newcomer appeared different. He didn’t creep in during the night like the others—it was noon and he rode down the main street without fear.
The stallion’s muscles rippled under its dust-covered fur as it walked. Horses were rare now and this one was well fed and watered. Out here on the fringes of the Endless Waste, nothing could survive without large quantities of food and water and there wasn’t enough of both to keep an animal as large as a horse alive—not unless you had money. And around here, few had that sort of money.
A well-dressed couple stepped out of the general store and onto the boardwalk, heading for the boarding house. Shading herself with a frilly umbrella, the woman walked with her arm entwined with the man’s. She laughed behind a gloved hand at something he said, but her laughter died when she spotted the rider. Stopping, she pulled on her partner’s arm, forcing him to halt. He followed her gaze to the dusty horseman and his mouth formed a soundless curse before he turned and sprinted back inside the store. The woman hoisted up her puffy skirt, exposing white frilly leggings, and followed close behind him.
With the bang of the store’s door, the street was deserted again.
Except for the horseman.
The stranger, his black hat pulled down low over his face, paid no heed to the locals, he knew they wouldn’t cause him any trouble. Reining in his horse, he stopped in front of the Law Office and after a moment of stillness, he dismounted. The spirited stallion snorted, baring its teeth as it shook its head, flicking its long black mane and dust into the still air.
The timber boardwalk creaked under the stranger’s weight as he stopped to pat the dust and grime from his long coat and wide-brimmed hat. With both hands he pulled his coat back from his hips, exposing a long-barrelled revolver slung low on his right side and a straight-bladed sword on his left.
Facing the Law office door, the stranger paused for a few moments before casting a sideways glance. Several yards away, a child stood in the shade of the building’s awning. It was a boy, ten years of age, dirty and scruffy and by the number of patches, this child’s faded clothes had been mended many times. Innocent brown eyes stared up at the tall stranger and a small wooden flute shook in the child’s hands. On the ground in front of the boy sat an old hat. If he was busking, it had been a slow day—the hat was empty.
“Play,” said the stranger, his voice deep and sounding like a predator’s growl.
The child obeyed and played the first song that came to him, a simple haunting tune which carried far in the dry, still air.
Pleased, the stranger turned his attention back to the Law Office door and with a swift kick, the latch gave way and the door flew open with a bang. The song didn’t waver and the stranger smiled before disappearing inside.
For a long time, all was quiet.
A single gunshot broke the silence with a loud crack that sounded like the pearly gates themselves splitting in two.
Then, it fell silent again.
Minutes crawled by before the stranger stepped out into the daylight. Startled, the boy stopped his playing and stared up at the tall stranger. The man stood in the doorway, his head down so the child could only see his stubble-covered chin in profile beneath his hat. Several pale scars criss-crossed his weathered face—with one tracking a jagged path down his cheek and disappearing beneath his dusty collar.
Crimson blood dripped from his blade, falling to the timber boardwalk and darkening the yellow dust which covered everything. Using what looked like a checked shirt, he wiped the gore from his sword with long, deliberate strokes, after which, he inspected the blade. It was covered in strange patterns—an unknown language or just symbols, the child couldn’t tell.
The man dropped the cloth and sheathing the sword, he moved toward his black horse. Hesitating, he glanced back at the child and seeing something in him, he grinned.
“You played well, boy.”
“I-I’m not a boy, I’m a girl.”
The stranger chuckled, it sounded deep and ominous. “So you are.” He reached into his vest pocket with a gloved hand and removed something, tossing it into the girl’s hat. “For your trouble, kid.” With long strides, he moved to his horse and placing his boot in a stirrup, mounted it in a fluid motion. Without a backward look, he flicked the reins and the stallion turned and headed out of town toward the open desert.
Once he was out of sight, the good townsfolk left their dwellings, thanking God they had survived a brush with the reaper.
With the flute in hand, the young girl crept to the Law Office door, curious what had transpired so close to her. She gripped the doorframe apprehensively and peeked inside.
Cherry-red blood coated the floor, furniture and walls in the small office. Chunks of flesh
, organs and severed limbs littered the room, it was like a tornado had hit a slaughter house. The occupants had been dismembered and their parts strewn around the room. A coppery scent filled the air, turning the young girl’s stomach—she wanted to vomit. There was so much blood.
Her breaths came hard as she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to force the image out of her mind. “No,” she gasped, staggering back and falling in her haste to get away from the horror.
Too much! Too. Much. Blood.
Scrambling to her feet, she scooped up her battered hat and sprinted wildly down the timber boardwalk and away from the macabre scene.
Tears streamed down her dirty cheeks, leaving thin wet tracks as she threw herself behind a wooden barrel in front of the general store. Her head dropped into her hands as large sobs shook her entire body. She had never been so scared.
Sometime later, a worried woman stopped beside the barrel and the scruffy girl. “Wilhelmina! What are you doing? Come here right this minute.”
The young girl glanced up at the speaker. Her tear-streaked cheeks were dry, but her eyes were still watery and shiny. She still held her hat and flute in white-knuckled hands.
“Mom?”
Wilhelmina’s mother, Catherine, grabbed the girl by the upper arm, lifting her to her feet. “Wilhelmina Antrim,” the woman scolded, her face inches from her daughter’s. “How many times must I call you?”
“Five?” whispered the girl.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on. Your father and brother are waiting in the wagon. We’re leaving this place.” She waved her arm, indicating the town. “It’s not safe here anymore.”
“He’s not my father. My real father is dead.”
“Don’t talk back, young lady. We’re leaving.”
“And my name is not Antrim, it’s Bonney like my father,” said the girl as her mother dragged her along. “And he called me Billie, not Wilhelmina.”
A small crowd of people gathered outside the Law Office as Billie’s mother marched her down the street. The townsfolk were horrified by the grisly discovery and many swore and looked away—their sheriff and his deputies murdered, butchered in cold blood. No doubt, many of the onlookers felt guilty for letting the killer leave town unchallenged.
Billie didn’t notice the commotion behind her, she chanced a glimpse at the stranger’s parting gift.
It was a plain, unadorned silver coin.
Chapter 2
Arizona Territory, 1875
“Here, Wilhelmina,” said Catherine Antrim, handing her daughter a small piece of white paper. “Take this to the general store and tell Mr. Thomas that we need these supplies loaded directly. And that we’ll be over soon to settle our account.”
“My name is Billie—”
“Don’t let him overcharge us,” interrupted Harrison Antrim, Billie’s stepfather. He was a good husband to her mother, but that didn’t make him a father to her.
“Yes, Harrison.”
“Wilhelmina, Harrison is your father. Do we have to go over this again? Call him father at least once. It’s a good day, so please don’t ruin it.” Her mother frowned. “We’re finally going back east, away from this damn dusty place and…these odd people.”
“Here comes one of them now,” said Billie, spotting a young man heading toward them. He was tall and thin and smiled as he approached. The man was Billie’s older brother, Joseph, and he had just turned eighteen—he was officially a man, although to her he never acted like one.
The siblings couldn’t be any more different. Joseph, the eldest, was tall and lean, where Billie was short even for a woman. Her mother often told Billie she was sturdy—whatever that meant. Joseph was a handsome young man who the local girls seemed to swoon over. He had a chiselled chin and wavy blond hair while Billie’s hair dark and straight. The boys at school teased her and told her she was plain—she suspected they meant ugly. Not one of the boys had ever tried to kiss her—the cowards. It hurt to know she wasn’t as pretty as the other girls. What girl didn’t want to be desirable to someone?
Billie’s mother, Catherine, looked her up and down. “Oh, Wilhelmina, what am I going to do with you?” She took a step back and looked at her daughter’s clothes, dirty brown trousers, a faded blue shirt and Harrison’s old boots. Catherine sighed. Not the clothes to attract a suitable husband—and Billie was sixteen! A prime age for marriage.
Billie glanced at her brother, not noticing her mother’s concerned look. “What’s got you excited, Joey? A stick? A beetle? I know, is it dirt?” She hoped her comments would get rid of his ever-present smile, but it didn’t. He grinned back at her, exposing his perfect white teeth.
“Good one, sis. No, Mr. Thomas has a new supply of candy and he has your favourite green ones.”
Green candies? Do I look like a child? she thought. Well, I do like green ones...
“Ma, can we buy some?” said Joseph. “They mightn’t have this type back east.”
Oh, please! thought Billie. Who can say no to those puppy dog eyes?
“All right,” said Catherine, smiling. “But buy the other supplies first. And tell Mr. Thomas I need the supplies on the wagon before noon.”
Catherine turned to join Harrison but paused, placing a thin hand on Billie’s arm. “Wilhelmina,” said Catherine. “Please buy yourself a dress, or a pretty bonnet. The boys back east aren’t like the ones here, they want a young lady to be…delicate and feminine. We must find you a husband soon. You don’t want to be an old maid, do you?”
“Ma! Please, not again.”
“All right, then. There is plenty of time to discuss marriage on the trip back east.”
Harrison offered his arm to his wife and together the pair stepped off the timber footpath and crossed the street toward the exchange. Catherine lifted the edge of her long dress so it wouldn’t drag in the fine yellow dirt that covered the street. Harrison carried a carpet bag which Billie knew contained sky rocks and once sold, the money would pay off their store tab and get them away from this dry land forever.
Billie watched her parents as they walked away. She hadn’t realised how thin her mother had become. Was her mother’s health the real reason they were leaving the territories? Years ago, Catherine’s health had deteriorated to a point where the doctors instructed her to go west. You need warm, dry air they said. But the air out here hasn’t helped.
A pang of sadness hit Billie. She’s too young to die. Isn’t she?
“Hey, Billie,” said Joseph, interrupting her melancholy. He never called her Billie in front of their mother, but he knew she liked the name. It was the last thing their real father gave her before he died. “The candy is waiting and I intend to eat my fill. It may be our last opportunity for a while.”
Joseph dashed off down the street, disappearing into the general store. He’s eighteen? She had her doubts. He was a kind, giving person and a great brother, not that she would admit it aloud. Sometimes his endless, happy-go-lucky attitude was annoying.
Heading across the street, Billie followed her brother toward the store. For years they had lived miles from Deepwell, near her stepfather’s mining claim. Not that Billie would miss this town or its people any time soon. Who would miss a dry, dust-bowl of a town where nothing grew? No one, especially not me! Goodbye Deepwell. She had no fond memories or friends here. A new life would be perfect.
She stopped, gazing at the dresses displayed in the store’s front window when she glimpsed her reflexion in the glass pane. Maybe Mom is right. I look boyish in breaches. She turned one way, then the other, trying to determine if she had what people call ‘a good side.’
I think I look all right. I’m not as pretty as the ladies from the cat-house, but I don’t think I’m ugly. She turned side on and stuck out her chest, studying her profile. Maybe I’m just a late bloomer…
Joseph’s face appeared on the side of the glass, causing her to jump. He waved enthusiastically for her to come inside and then vanished
again.
He’s an adult?
Billie walked into the general store. She loved coming into this store as there was always plenty of things to see. There were several rows of things like mining tools, shovels, picks and pans, coils of ropes, boxes of tin food, water barrels, lamp oil and blankets. On the right side was a small assortment of women’s apparel—dresses, umbrellas, bonnets, hats and shawls. All the things that her mother wanted her to wear and none of them comfortable. She had worn dresses before and didn’t see what the fuss was all about. They didn’t feel right and she couldn’t climb or ride with the many layers of material restricting her movement. Why would anyone want to wear clothing so thick? She felt hot just looking at it.
Joseph stood leaning against the shop counter, his hat hanging down his back. He smiled, chatting to Mr. Thomas’s daughter, Alice. She was a pretty girl who smiled and flashed her eyes flirtatiously at him, enjoying his undivided attention. Alice was the same age as Billie and wore a clean white dress and she had red ribbons in her long hair.
Really? Who wears a white dress? Here? Unconsciously, Billie smoothed down her shirt. She always has the boys’ attention. Why? It can’t be her personality.
Billie gave Mr. Thomas her mother’s list and wandered the store. It was a good year as it was the third time they had come to town for supplies. It would also be their last. Tomorrow morning, they would head back east, to Harrison’s family and civilization.
Her stepfather worked hard for years mining sky rocks—like most who came out to live on the fringes of the Endless Waste. But he had failed to make any real money. They were almost as broke now as they were five years ago. Only the big outfits, the mining companies, made any money from sky rocks. Most miners whittled away their savings before selling their claims and heading north or east. The ones who stayed ended up working for the big companies for low wages, saving their money and praying to strike it rich. It was a life that was little more than slavery—and that war finished ten years ago! Many poor souls and their dreams were buried in the cracked ground outside these mining settlements scattered across the south.
Billie the Kid: The Sky Fire Chronicles Book 1 Page 1