Gunslinger's Moon (16 page)

“I thought I knew you better, Jed.”

The gunslinger shook his head. “A man can be whatever he wants. However, sooner or later the truth about him will come out. I did not become a gunslinger because I’m a saint.”

One last argument was raised by the bar owner. “What about your peace? It has not been a single day.”

“It was made to be broken. Vampires and werewolves do not mix. Not even if they are two miles away and avoiding each other. Douglas know this and eventually he will attack.”             

Bjorn nodded sagely. “I have run into vampires in my long life. What you say is true. They are no kindred spirits to us.”                                         

Truth was it did not matter if Bjorn believed him about leaving once the vampires were taken care of, so long as he believed Jed was on his side. For the time being. Bjorn extended his hand and Jed took it. The grip was strong. Those pythons in his forearm coiled around the gunslinger’s hand. Little effort needed if Bjorn wished to break Jed’s hands. It was an ample warning, one that went without saying. Releasing the grip, Jed couldn’t help massaging his hand.

Tipping his hat he left the bar, Obadiah at his heels.  Jed went to the gun store, a small building with a misspelled title. The E had been left off at the end. Recent events had created good business. Threats of werewolves had sent many miners itching to get some kind of defense. However, the store had a poor selection of fire arms. Most were revolvers and a Winchesters, none of which had a strong enough kick. There was no Krugers, yet plenty of ammunition of the large cartridges. A spattering of Derringers, though the small gun was hardly worth the materials to make it. Not one shotgun could be seen. Personal preference aside, Jed realized that a good double barreled was about what they needed.

Jed asked the owner, Ben Roberts, on the lack of variety.

The middle aged firearms owner answered, “I was told it was a town statute that no shotguns or large calibers could be sold in town. I almost left when I was told that. But I reckon with a town that did not have any guns at all, could be good business, even if they confiscated my shotguns.”

“How many did they take?”

“Shotguns?” Ben tapped his chin. “I reckon I had about a dozen. I used to sell in another town, until a half dozen other sellers set up shop. Took all my guns and relocated.”

Jed studied him. Ben was not much to look at. A little pudgy, a gut that pressed against his shirt, he was hardly a lean fighting machine. His jaw was soft and he almost did not have a chin. A thick neck crept up to his face, slightly bloating his cheeks. Of course looks did not mean everything.

“Did you serve in the war?”

Ben was a taken aback by the sudden change in questioning. “Yes. Fought in infantry for a spell.”

“See any action?”

“Of course. Some minor skirmishes and the like.” A dark look crossed his features. “Till I got captured and sent to a prison. Andersonville. Most godforsaken place on the earth.” Ben’s hand crept up to his neck, brushing against the collar of his shirt. Then he seemed to shake himself free of whatever memory gripped him.

This piqued the gunslinger’s interest. A man had to have something strong to survive Andersonville and keep living afterwards. Jed said, “Mr. Roberts, tonight meet me at the saloon.”

“Why?” asked Ben.

“I have a proposition of sorts. Just meet me there and keep quiet about it.” Confused, but curious, Ben agreed.

After they left Obadiah asked, “Is this wise?”

“Is what wise?” the gunslinger asked back.

“You’re going to make an army of sorts. Does not seem to be your style, recruiting inexperienced men to handle this,” Obadiah added thoughtfully. “You’ve said it enough in the past that you don’t like involving the locals.”

Gently, Jed reprimanded, “I hired you, didn’t I? In any event, there are way to many of them. We need our own army. Adaptability is what every gunslinger needs. Circumstances change all the time. When they do, you need to change with them. As much as I hate to say it, we need help.”

Then he coughed roughly. Concerned, Obadiah said, “I think you need to see a doctor. That ain’t going away on its own.”

“I’m fine,” Jed muttered. On the ground was speckles of blood. Before Obadiah could see it, he brushed some dirt over it. So much for the dry air, Jed thought wryly.

In front of Beth’s house was a wagon loaded with bags and suitcases. Henry was in the process of loading another onto back. The old butler did not give the gunslingers a second glance. While he was rearranging the luggage, Jed and Obadiah went inside. The lush garden out front was gone, only the upturned dirt gave evidence to the plants there. Nadi had already taken her plants and moved. Inside the furniture was still there and the dents in the walls.

“Ah, Jed how are you?” Beth asked, coming from the stairs. The rail on the stairs were mostly gone. Probably smashed when Beth had fought Hudson. She was carrying a thick suitcase. “It’s polite to carry a women’s luggage,” She reminded.

Jed replied, “Not when the woman is stronger than the man.”

Beth clicked her tongue. “Are you still bitter? If you are, then why are you here?”

“I’ve come to buy the house,” Jed said.

“After everything that happened here? I’m surprised you don’t think it’s haunted.” She smiled and placed the bag she was holding next to Obadiah. “Would you be a dear and bring that to my wagon?”

Obadiah shot a glance at Jed, but he complied. Grabbing the handle he pulled up. Immediately he grunted at the weight of the bag. “What do you have-” He stopped in midsentence, evidently deciding he did not wish to know what a vampire had in her bag. Straining at the weight he made it to the door, the bottom only an inch above the ground.

Beth turned to Jed. “Tell you what,” she said, “I will let you loan the place for free on two conditions. One you fix the damages and once our stray dog problem is ended I can move back here.” She held a slender hand. “Deal?”

Jed shook it. Unlike Bjorn she did not use her unnatural strength. It was an easy, pleasant shake. Her skin was soft as silk. Green eyes filled his vision as he stared deep into her. She was absolutely beautiful. Lips slightly opened, inviting him.

Abruptly, the gunslinger took his hand away. Beth had a coy smile on her lips. “Good day, Jed.”

She left, passing by Obadiah. He tipped his hat and stood next to Jed. The older gunslinger shifted his hat back, watching as Beth climbed on top the wagon. Henry silently mushed the reins and the two horses harnessed in front clattered forward.

Jed sighed, “Never forget Obadiah, the pretty ones are always bloodsuckers.”

Unnoticed, Obadiah gave him a long stare. Unable to think of a response to that, Obadiah pointed to the house. “So we are setting up our headquarters in this house. A house where someone has died in. Not only died, but murdered horrifically.”

Examining a pronounced hole in the wall, Jed absently said, “Obadiah, I doubt only one person has died here.”

“That makes it better,” Obadiah said sarcastically sitting on one of the broken couches. Suddenly it snapped further. He landed on the ground. Obadiah stood rubbing his rear. “I love it already.”

“A few adjustments and this will be home, sweet home.” Jed declared.

“Like what?”

“First repairing the broken wall upstairs and the railing. Next, iron bars behind the windows.” Jed patted the door. “A couple of metal supports for all the doors. You know Obadiah, the things that make someone feel at home.”

Dubiously, Obadiah muttered, “More like a prison.”

The blacksmith was more than surprised when Jed ordered many iron bars. The house had many windows and each one required a set of bars. The shape of the bars was not lost on the blacksmith, he had created similar types for the cell in the sheriff’s office. He also decided he did not want to know what use a gunslinger had for them. So when Jed asked for silence on the matter, the blacksmith was happy to oblige. The gunslinger gave him the estimated sizes, they hardly had to be exact.

He then collected the materials needed for repairing the house. A carpenter was hired to recreate the stair rails. Jed also bought nails and lumber. Some of the fixes could be done by him and Obadiah. Both had experience repairing various things. It would take many days for it all to finish.

Ms. Jan was informed about their moving out. She was hardly disappointed and the other patrons once they learned all became relieved. Ever since that one night the werewolves broke into Jed’s room, it was assumed it would happen again. 

The gunslingers were at the saloon that night before Ben was. Sitting as close to a corner as they could get, they waited for the gun shop owner to arrive. When he did, Jed made sure there was a bottle waiting for him. Curious and not without a little anxiety, Ben sat down.

Quickly, Jed made sure they were out of earshot of any of the werewolves. Bjorn was busy at the bar and despite his unnaturally good hearing he would not be able to make out the whispers of a conversation in the back through all the noise of the saloon.

Satisfied they could speak with impunity, Jed whispered, iron in his voice, “What I’m about to say you don’t repeat to another man.” He waited for Ben to nod. “I’m sure you are familiar with the recent werewolves that were discovered. Good. They were not the only ones.”

The nonchalant way the gunslinger said it, did nothing to relieve the paling of Ben’s face. Pupils wide, his mouth opened to speak. Jed quietly shushed him. Swallowing, Ben whispered, “What do you mean they are more of them? How many? Why aren’t you hunting them? Isn’t that your job?”

Jed waited for the barrage of questions to end. “Listen, they are more than we can handle on our own. I won’t go into any details now, but I need to know if you are willing to help. Can you fight?”

Opening the bottle, Ben took a long deep swallow. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Instead of replying he said, “Damn it, I will help.”

“Good. We will need those guns that were taken,” Jed stated.

“Why are you asking me about it? Talk to the mayor.” Then Ben stopped talking, his eyes widened again as he realization hit him. “He’s a werewolf?”

Obadiah spoke for the first time. “No,” he answered. Ben sighed in relief. “He is a vampire.”

Ben’s reaction would tell everything about the man. His entire face fell. Thankfully his back was turned to the bar and no one could see his face. It was like he had seen a ghost, his hands tightly grabbed the bottle till the white of his knuckles showed. However, ghosts couldn’t touch people like a vampire. Strangely, he set his jaw and released the grip on the bottle. Again his hand touched his throat.

“I thought all this crazy shit ended with the war,” Ben muttered.

“You aren’t the only one,” Jed added, coughing abruptly. “Now you need to find out how to get those guns. If Douglas won’t give them to you, then at least find out where has stashed them. I cannot be seen looking for a cache of guns. He will get suspicious. Me and Obadiah will be looking for extra hands. This town needs a militia. One last thing. Don’t tell the sheriff.”

Ben could only swear. “Okay,” he said, sounding more sure.

“Have a good night, Ben.”

“Yeah,” the gun shop owner chuckled. “I’ll sleep like a baby.”

Jed coughed again. Hard, forcing him to cover his mouth with a handkerchief. When it passed he ignored the blood on the linen and the concern Obadiah looked at him with. Instead he asked his young partner, “What do you think about Ben?”

Obadiah pondered a mite. “Seems a little shaky.”

“He survived Andersonville,” Jed said, bringing up the name of the prison of war camp. “He survived during it and after it.”

“I was always wondered what happened there. When pa came back from the war for the last time, he never spoke about what happened there. Unlike the other stuff in the war he never even hinted at what he did there. He would just say, ‘I did what I could.’ Were you there?”

Jed frowned, his memories going back to the place. Like Obadiah’s father, it was not one of his fond memories. Starved bodies floated in his mind. Men whose bones were clearly visible, and not enough meat for a dog to chew on when they died. The bitter smell of the swamp. Freedom of the prisoners blocked by a high stockade and the bright guns of the Confederates guards. And the constant threat of the true overlords living beneath.

Taking a sip Jed told the truth, albeit the condensed version. “Not sure if you know, but the war was a complicated thing. Everyone was fighting each other and the whole country was going crazy. During that time every manner of foul beast took to the land. No one was safe. Vampires dwelled in the night while werewolves hunted by the moon. Because of the war, not many resources could be spent fighting these creatures of darkness. The south was especially bad. Plantations and farms were isolated from one another.” Coughing interrupted his words.

“Anyway the Confederates would get prisoners of war and they sent these men to a prison call Andersonville. Built a fence around twenty acres of land, holding a marsh in the center. As the war progressed more and more people were sent there. It got overcrowded and supplies were never adequate. Disease already began killing people by the time the vampires arrived. There was a half dozen of the bastards living secretly somewhere in the camp. Every night they would feast on the prisoners and there was nothing these starved men could do. For months they starved during the day and were drained at night. Thousands died, slowly. The perfect torture of starvation, disease, and blood loss.”