The Gunner Chronicles

by Bard Constantine

  The Baron pulled herself from under a pile of smoldering bricks, coughing. She slowly stood, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. She touched the bloody cuts and punctures on her body, unsure if any of them were severe. Looking around, she had no idea where she was. The Town was unrecognizable; every landmark blasted, streets covered in rubble, buildings reduced to smoking ruins. There was no sign of any of her squad. There was no sign of any life at all.

  The crunch of footsteps was the only warning. She pulled her last remaining revolver and fired at the shadow approaching her. The body that hit the ground was one of her soldiers, eyes wide in accusatory shock as he died.

  "Bad shot."

  She froze at the sound of the raspy voice, slowly turning around. Gunner stood a few yards away, duster torn and bloody, eyes cold and dead, one hand pointing his Reaper at her.

  She spat a bitter laugh, looking at the devastation around them. "Guess the old preacher was right after all."

  "Yeah." He pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked on empty.

  The Baron's eyes widened, a smile springing to her lips as she raised her revolver. Gunner was somehow faster, dropping the Reaver and leaning to the side. Her shot grazed his cheek, he unsheathed the blade on his back and rammed it into her gut, twisting it.

  She gasped at the surge of agony, legs immediately giving out. Flopping to the ground, she clutched the hilt of the blade, fingers slippery from the blood. Giving up, she sagged against the railing of a ruined building, body shuddering from the pain. Looking up, she recognized the scorched sign. The Bloody Mary. She coughed up blood in an attempt to laugh. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gunner pick his weapon up and reload it.

  "Guess I'll…see you in…hell, Gunner."

  He pointed the Reaper at her; teeth gritted in a hateful snarl. "No, you won't. Because there's no work or thought or knowledge or wisdom in the grave—where I'm sending you."

  The Reaper fired. Everything disintegrated.

  Chapter 13: Wide is the Gate

  Gunner walked away from the Baron's body, passing through the ruins of the Town. People ran by, shouting, clutching wounds, dragging bodies from the wreckage. Many were the Baron's men, staggering through the rubble in a daze, shrinking back in fear when Gunner walked their direction. They ran at the sight of him, screaming, looking fearfully over their shoulders. He ignored them, picking his way through the debris.

  He found his Steed near the Baron's saloon, in a half-collapsed garage roaring with flames. Covering his face with his bandanna, he quickly found one of the side panels on the vehicle. Disengaging the hatches, he extracted a small velvet satchel. Opening it, he removed a pair of rings strung on a beaded chain. One was a slender ladies ring, gold with a single diamond in the center. The other was a heavy men's ring made of polished wood and black ceramic. He stared at them for a long time, flames crackling around him, hissing as the rain streamed inside. Finally, he raised the rings to his lips and slipped the chain over his neck, tucking them inside his shirt against his chest. Then he exited the garage, leaving the Steed behind to burn. The rain had lessened, falling gently as if to make up for its previous intensity. He gazed at the destruction, feeling no triumph, only sadness as he remembered Pablo's words.

  "Well, that was crazy."

  Janey sat on a broken piece of concrete with a rifle across her knees, hunched and feral as a wounded animal. Her hat was missing, her hair disheveled and plastered against her face. Soot smeared on her cheeks, and her clothes were torn and darkened with blood.

  He nodded at her. "I'm leaving."

  "Yeah, I figured."

  “See if the Paradise Inn is still standing. I stashed the bulls I made in my room. Take them. Use ‘em to start a new life.”

  "What will you do?"

  “Head east. And you?”

  "Don't know." She looked around. "Nothing left here, that's for sure. Thought about partnering up with you for a minute, but I changed my mind. This is too much, even for me."

  He nodded. "Thanks for your help."

  "Reckon I won't be seeing you around."

  "Guess not."

  He turned and walked away, passing buildings on fire, houses shattered, soldiers and deputies crawling through the mud, bleeding, leaning against fallen buildings, eyes staring sightlessly. He walked past the remains of the power plant, where the shelter doors opened and McArthur led his fellow workers out, staring in astonishment at the gutted remains of the Town. Past the mines, where Myrtle and dozens of townspeople emerged, clutching one another, watching silently as he strode by without a word. Past the Paradise Inn, still standing and nearly complete, where Rosco Gibbs stood at the entrance, looking on as Gunner passed through the smoking, cratered remains of the town gateway, which had been blown wide open.

  They stood in the pouring rain, watching until Gunner was lost to sight, vanishing into the dwindling mist and the crimson twilight.

  The End

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  Post-credits

  Myrtle Jenkins shaded her eyes with her hands, watching the rider approach. He was headed straight for the farm, riding across the brown and orange landscape on a silver hovercycle, a long plume of dust trailing behind him. Myrtle dropped her basket of eggs and ran into the village, scattering chickens as the hurried along.

  "Janey, Janey!"

  Janey was on a long ladder leaned against the roof of one of the rickety old houses applying some much-needed repair to the shingles. She glanced down; a couple of nails clamped between her teeth. "Whaddya want?"

  "Rider headed this way. Riding some fancy floater."

  Janey paused for a moment, squinting over the squat buildings. Spitting the nails onto the ground, she clambered down, picked up her gun belt off the ground, and cinched it around her waist. "Reckon I better see what this is all about."

  "Here—you need this." Myrtle handed her a leather vest with a brass star pinned to the left side.

  Janey
frowned but put the vest on anyway, buttoning it as she walked. "Still don't know how I let you country folk talk me into being Sheriff," she muttered. Several of the women looked up as they passed, but no one said anything. There wasn't a lot of talking among the newly formed settlers, mainly women and children left widowed and orphaned from the Town's violence. The trauma of their experiences led them to quiet lives, savoring the peace while it lasted.

  The gleaming hovercycle waited by the gate by the time Janey got there. A freshly painted sign was affixed at the entrance with the word Bethlehem stenciled in big, bold letters. The stranger stared at the sign with mild amusement on his ageless face.

  He was tall and so slender it looked like a brisk wind could bowl him over. The flat-topped hat atop his narrow head had a wide brim that shaded his pale, nearly bloodless face. He was dressed in all black save for a brilliantly white, open-collared shirt. A golden chain encircled his neck, centered by a sword medallion.

  He glanced up as Janey approached, regarding her with eyes blue as frozen lake waters. He seemed to read into everything about her, from the badge on her breast to the scars on her face. A smile touched his blood-red lips.

  "Bethlehem. The birthplace of the Savior. This town doesn't appear on any maps. It is brand-new, yes?"

  "Not much of a town," Janey said. "The one you're probably looking for is burnt down." She nodded to the distance, where the jutting remains of the old Town were visible, thrusting toward the sky like broken fingers.

  "Yes. The destruction of that place is actually why I am here. My name is Caldwell Grendel. I understand a man passed this way recently. This apostate's name has been scourged from the records, but the name he is known by now is Gunner. Did you have any encounters with him, by any chance?"

  "Never heard of him. Guess you came all this way for nothing."

  Grendel dropped his head with a sigh, face grieved. "Here we have barely met, and already you soil yourself with lies."

  "Excuse me?"

  He looked up, eyes hard as cobalt gemstones. "I will warn you but this once. A Cleric of the Holy Divinity does not brook falsehood lightly. We are the Swords of Truth, executing the will of the Most Holy wherever sin and iniquity are found."

  Myrtle's breath caught in her throat. She had heard stories of the Clerics, whispers of blood and torture, deadly skills, and arcane powers.

  Janey must have heard the same, because she took an uneasy step backward, hands drifting to her revolvers. "You're a Cleric?"

  "That is correct. There are rumors of pockets of extremists who refer to themselves as the Remnant in these parts. It would be a shame if I had to start an inquisition right here in this newly formed community."

  "No," Janey said quickly. "Ain't no need for none of that. Gunner was here. He was here, and he left. That's all I know."

  "Careful, lest you lie again," Grendel said. "You surely know more than that. And I will have it from you. Every word you heard him say. Everything you saw him do. If you are compliant, I will bless this place and be on my way. But if you lie to me again…" His tongue slid over his red lips as he surveyed the dilapidated buildings and greenhouses. "I will flay this place and everyone in it to prevent your wickedness from infecting others. Do we understand each other?"

  "Yeah," Janey said, a bead of sweat sliding down her temple. "I understand."

  Gunner will return

  About the author

  Bard Constantine is a self-described neo-pulp author. In his own words:

  "My stories aren't life-changing. They're not what critics would call fine literature. My stories are throwbacks to the paperbacks you'd stuff in your back pocket and read on the bus, at the park, or in math class instead of doing your algebra. I write adventure stories. Genre-blended, action-oriented pulp fiction with a kick. If that's what you're looking for, then I'm your guy."

  Keep up with all of Bard's latest releases by following him on Amazon: simply go to his author page and click FOLLOW under his picture.

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