From The Journal of Quincey P. Morris,
If you're reading this, then there's a good chance I didn't meet a good end. We'll see about that, though.
That's happened once before. I was in a part of Eastern Europe. I had experience with vampires before. I tracked their lot to a slip door and I stepped through. I did have a horse when I came through but the bastards ambushed me in a land called South America not too long after sunset, draining my horse dry.
I didn't have enough lead on me to kill the bats but I spared the horse of any further misery. So much for old Cuthbert. If you've heard the legends, then yes, I did name him after one such legend. If not, well then, don't worry too much about it. I reckon it suffices to say that Cuthbert was a good horse and one of my constant road companions. I hated to leave him in the jungle trails like that but I had no tools to bury him. I travel kind of light. Kind of.
I took what mattered and kept it moving. Killed many a vampire there on my way to this land called Texas before hearing word that there was a possible source in Europe.
I met a young woman named Lucy Westenra in those days and I'd hoped to be an eligible suitor for her. The way I saw it, if I could track down and kill off this source for all vampires, then my duty to my order was complete.
Three more tragedies would line up after that. First, Miss Lucy died horribly. Lord Arthur, a newfound friend of mine lost his fiancée and I lost a dear friend in her. Second, this Count Dracula, we had him on the run and even managed to get ahead of him but I was seriously wounded when one of the Szgany who were protecting that thing's tomb stabbed me in the side. I still managed to stab the beast in the chest with my knife. Jonathan Harker, another friend of mine, cut the thing's head off and we managed it right about just after sunrise.
I remembered feeling weak at the end of it all. I'd cut my way through wild Szgany people, no doubt under this supposed noble's spells but I had been convinced that I had done it, ended the plague, ended the curse.
I remember my mother once telling me in confidence "There are other worlds than these." Seeing the faces of Jonathan, his lovely wife Mina and that crazy old coot, Abraham Van Helsing, I noticed the curse on Mina had been lifted. Thank goodness.
There was a door up ahead. One I hadn't noticed before. I'd asked them to help me up. When I opened the door, pale and still bleeding, that was when I noticed the looks on their faces. There were looks of both shock and surprise. I told them to inform everyone else that I'd died from my wounds. I bid them fare thee well and stepped through the door, never to see them again. I took up a spot on the front porch of an abandoned house and used a small kit to try to stop the bleeding. It worked but only barely. When I had enough strength, I moved inside and hid myself away from the world until I was well-rested and healed.
Took a long time. For a little while I was starting to think of this place as home. For a minute I was thinking that I'd killed the Source. It's over but something told me I was wrong. I scrounged what I could from the pantry, took some water from the well, put my boots back up on the road and armed with my trusty repeater, continued.
The world went and wandered off. For a couple of days, I had no idea where in that world I was.
I'd stopped to make camp one day and used an old trick to help me find my way. I put a dead-wood stick into the dirt and used a rock to mark where the shadow was. I sat and watched and then place another stone where the shadow had moved. I had my bearings. Now I just needed a direction.
Wandering around the desert has a host of challenges. You have to eat. You have to drink but you also have to conserve what you have on hand in order to make it from one place to the next. Now, that's a race against time and you ain't got much of that. Trick to navigating the desert is timing and paying close attention to your needs. You ain't good to a soul if you're gone.
I was starting to think that perhaps I knew what my mother meant when she said "There are other worlds than these" but even I couldn't be sure at that moment.
I walked for two days before the oasis came into sight. It was a town but the sign had long since fallen into heavy weathering and disrepair. It wasn't readable. The buildings were old, gone to seed, save for three. One of them was an old church, the congregation, much like the world; moved on. The second was a Saloon that also served as a sort of City Hall and the third was just a small cabin.
A man emerged from the old church as I strode into town.
"Hile, Gunslinger!" he said, waving to me from the door of the church. I had my trusty repeater propped onto my shoulder, keeping my finger well off the trigger. I approached, not speeding up nor slowing down. All things in good time.
It was when he came within several feet of me that his eyes went wide and he suddenly seemed unsure of himself.
"Beggin' yer pardon," he says, "Izzat gun a symbol o' yer office?"
"That it is," I said, "My name is Quincey P. Morris, Order of The King of the Line..."
"Of Eld," he said, finishing my sentence, "Arthur Eld, say thankee. Pardon me fer sayin' I thought the Line of Eld had seen it's last days."
"Why is that?" I asked him, "I've been away for some time."
He gestured toward the saloon and nodded. He was an older man, short in stature and lean with skin like wrinkled leather in areas. His clothing was worn but well-kept. He seemed to keep himself clean despite the long hair and beard.
"Mr. Quincey," he said, "You been on a hell of a long journey an' I'd rather have ya sit in the shade, have somethin' to drink with me, if ya please. Maybe stay the night before moseyin' along like ya do. I only seen one o' your line maybe one time through here."
We walked slowly to the saloon. I held one of the bat-wing doors for him and followed him in, looking around.
"No reason to fret, Mr. Quincey," he said, "Ain't nobody here but ol' Walter O'Shea. That's me, in case you were wonderin'. I apologize for tensin' up the way I did. Last time I saw one o' your Order, he was travellin' with a man named...oh, what was his name?" His voice trailed off as he poured two drafts of a fragrant apple graf.
"Who was the man from my Order?" I asked, "Might help nail down the name of the man that was with him."
"The man who was with him was a no-good damned snake," he says, "The man from The Order of The King was named Isaac."
"I knew him," I said, "He's the man that gave me my test and inducted me. If memory serves, his companion was a man named Severn Stephens. He's always been a friend to us and my family so he couldn't be the man..."
"That's the one!" he said, interrupting me again, "I dunno how long ya knew him or how well but I tell ya I seen him gun down The Good Man, Isaac and take off in the night. Shot him right in the back, stone dead. I was sore the next day from givin' him a proper burial. Shame I had to bury him among our own. He deserved better'n he got, may The Good Man, Jesus receive Isaac."
I tried to keep my surprise to myself. For Severn to kill Isaac, that had to be answered. He'd betrayed the entire Order and, if Walter spoke true, it would be up to me to send him to his reward, for good or, mostly, ill.
"Mr. O'Shea," I said.
"Walter," he said, taking off the Bowler hat he wore the entire time I'd known him revealing that he was bald at the top of his head and the long hair had come from the fringes, "You can just call me Walter."
"Walter," I said as his Bowler came to rest on the surface of the bar, "You're absolutely certain that Severn Stephens shot Isaac in the back and then ran off?"
"Sure as the sun still rises," he said to me, "I hesitated when I saw the Excalibur symbol on the stock o' your rifle. Now, I know that I'm bound by duty to provide information but I have to ask you somethin'. I need a favor, if you would."
"If you can lead me to Severn," I said, "You can name that favor."
"I'm gettin' old, Mr. Quincey," he said, "At first when I had this town all to myself, I didn't mind all the upkeep but...as I get older, it ain't no peach anymore, if'n ya get my meanin'."
I nodded in understanding, curious to see where he went with it. I gestured a finger in a circle, letting him know he should continue.
"Mr. Quincey, I need a guide," he said, "Someone to escort me to the next town over. A place where people are. A place where I ain't talkin' to myself all the time. A place where maybe people wouldn't mind havin' me as I get older. I can't keep this old town of Ramshackle goin' anymore by myself."
"Where is the next town?" I asked, "Certainly it can't be all that far."
"It ain't," he said, "Ain't the issue though. A man like me, ain't got shootin' iron to speak of. Ain't got much ability to run. Out in the distance, I seen 'em. Red eyes. I hear screechin' in the distance at night. I don't want your lead, Mr. Quincy. You'd have more use of it than me. 'Sides that, ain't got no shootin' iron o' any kind. I sleep in the church. That ground is still consecrated an' it's the only place in town that's safe at night. I'll give ya a place to rest your head, food an' any information I got. I'll answer any o' yer questions. All I ask is for your word that you'll get me over to the town o' Cactus Junction in one piece. I have your word an' everythin' in this town that's mine is yours."
I agreed. I noticed the lack of livery stables, no real wagons to speak of. Crossing the desert would be a difficult time for him. Figuring it may be easier to help him cross that terrain with him navigating, it would be a far cry from trying it alone. I could look after him and he would point the way. If it was more than a day, I'd have to keep watch by night. I only knew of one thing with red eyes.
"Walter," I said after a long sip of my graf, "I think our deal works just fine. You stick with me when we're ready to make the journey and, if me or my gun will help you get there safe, you will reach Cactus Junction alive."
"Say thankee-sai," he said, after a pull from his own mug. I could see him visibly relax, "Been a long time since I seen anyone. Tell me something, if you wouldn't mind, Mr. Quincey. That gun o' yours. Are the rumors true? Is that made from..."
I nodded.
"Yes it is," I said, "you hear true."
"Sun's goin' down," he said, looking out of the window, "Mr. Quincey, we should get movin'. We need to get everythin' together before it gets dark. Do you have provisions?"
"I have about a day's worth of rations left," I said, "Aside from that, it's gonna be whatever I can hunt or forage."
"Which ain't shit out here in the desert," he says, "beggin' yer pardon, not puttin' any doubt in your capability."
"No offense taken," I said finishing my mug of graf before we cleaned the mugs, gathered a few things and then moved to the small house near the church.
"This was my home," he explained as we ventured inside, "Now, it's just a damned kitchen. Managed to kill some small game." He began touching some shriveled meat he had laid out, "No varmints touched it. Good." He took a pelt he'd cured and stretched and began gathering the meat into it, fashioning a bag which he bound with twine and carried, "Save your ration, Mr. Quincey," he continued, "this'll feed us tonight while we hunker down in the church. We need to head to the well an' fill our canteens."
We left the house, filled our canteens at the well and heard something in the distance. Walter O'Shea froze.
"They're on their way," he said, a tremor tinging his voice, "Come on, Gunslinger."
I turned and winced. The wound in my side had closed but it didn't like a sudden turn such as the one I'd performed. For a moment, it felt like my side threatened to tear itself open again.
We both walked as quickly as we could to the church before entering. Walter barred the door behind us and then quickly checked all the other doors to ensure they were also sealed shut. The evening's rays were beautiful in the stained-glass windows.
Walter sat in one of the pews and coughed a few times. He took long, deep breaths.
"We'll...keep the lights...down low," he said, still trying to catch his breath from the exertion, "We keep our voices down. They can hear us."
In the night, I could hear the battering of wings. They sounded like bats but I knew they weren't. Vampires were about again and they were flying around. They didn't emit the same squeaking sound that bats made, these were full-throated, high-pitched screams. I had my rifle at the ready when Walter tapped me and gestured to lean in close.
"They won't come in here," he whispered, "They can't come on to the grounds. I was bein' chased one night an' I ducked in here. I saw their eyes when I turned to shut the door to the chapel behind me."
"Vampires," I whispered back, "I hunt those. Ain't got enough lead for all of 'em. Where did they come from?"
"They showed up after Sai Isaac was gunned down by that sss..." he stopped, considering what he was about to say, "When Mr. Stephens killed Sai Isaac."
As we moved apart, I mouthed the word, "Cocksuckers..."
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We both awoke the next morning just before sunrise. I was able to hear them leaving. Walter was still sleeping behind the altar when I checked on him. I'd slept on one of the pews while Walter insisted on sleeping where the preacher would stand. I waited until I knew the sun was up and everything would be visible. I took my things and ventured to the outhouse.
When I arrived back at the chapel, I saw a very worried and disheveled Walter O'Shea standing there.
"I thought you'd been taken in the night," he said, "thought you went an' done some damned fool thing like goin' out there after 'em. I wouldn't advise it. Too many of 'em."
"Where are they hiding?" I asked, "It's flat desert for miles around."
"Who knows?" he asked, "Best we gather our things. We have a long way to go and I still have something you'll want to see before we do."
We gathered our belongings again and he led me out through the back door of the chapel and into the cemetary. He walked down the rows and I followed until he pointed out one grave with a simple marker made from a board that he'd carved himself.
"That's him," he says, "Poor Sai Isaac. He was a good man. A strong man. If he inducted you, I know you're as good as he."
I stood there and stared at the grave before gently guiding Walter back.
"I do not aim with my hand." I said, reciting the Oath of our Office, "He who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his Elder. I aim with my eye. I do not shoot with my hand. He who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his Elder. I shoot with my mind. I do not kill with my gun. He who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his Elder. I kill with my heart."
Immediately, I shouldered my rifle, aimed into the sky and fired, the loud crack sounding off in the distance. I activated the lever and ejected the shell, having spent one round to honor my fallen leader. The shell casing landed on his grave where I would leave it. The Honor of The Gunslinger hardly seemed honorable in this deserted town. I looked to Walter, lowered my rifle back to keeping it propped on my shoulder and we began walking back to Walter's home. He needed to pack. He was never going to be coming home again. I had sympathy for him. He'd built his house, dug his well and had planned on living the rest of his days out here but, after Isaac's murder, the town continuously fell into a state of disrepair save for the three buildings that mattered the most to him. Aside from what was in his home and the saloon, the rest of the town was laid bare. We began walking while it was still morning.
We took it slow. He was no good on our trail if he was as winded as he was when night came. Walter seemed to be keeping up pretty well as I'd already let him lead.
"I used to go to Cactus Junction when I was younger," he said to me, "Two horses drawin' a carriage...take me 'bout half a day. Wagons were covered though, took the heat off of the sun beatin' down on us."
We had been walking for a few hours until we came a driftwood tree that had been broken and laying on it's side along our path.
"Hey Walt," I said, "Let's have a seat, take a rest, have a little lunch and something to drink."
"We're half the way there, Sai-Quincey," he said, seemingly in mild distress, "We got another...half day's walk before we get there."
"You speak true, Walter but," I said, "You hired me to get you to Cactus Junction, alive, well and in one piece. I ain't asking you to sit as a man you hired. I'm asking you to recouperate as a friend. Got about maybe half a day til we reach the Junction. I just want to be sure you don't start having trouble on the way."
He relented, nodding and having a seat on the fallen tree. I took a seat next to him. He began opening the pelt sack still full of the seasoned jerky he'd made. He handed me some before feeding himself. We ate little, drank much of our respective canteens and he told me how the red-eyed beings, vampires, began showing up after Isaac's murder. At first, there were disappearances of the children of Ramshackle. After several of the town's children had been taken, many fled the town, fearing for their own lives and that of their children. The missing were never recovered but the vampires started to show up. At first, it was two or three and then, over the course of a month, the town had all but disappeared, leaving only Walter and a swarm would descend upon the town at night. When I asked if Walter recognized any of the misshapen horrors, he shook his head.
"Too damn dark," he said, "I stayed hidden and with good reason. I stayed in the Sanctuary that The Good Man Jesus instructed our preachers to build, and I say thankee. You think maybe it was the good people of the town come back to take me with 'em?"
I nodded. I couldn't say for sure but I'd seen this before. My earliest hunts for the originator of the affliction had led me down paths that proved fruitless.
The Count's own education at The Scholomance is what gave him his power. His exercise of it threatened to tear the fabric of reality apart. If all vampires descended from him, I was certain that killing him would release the souls of those he had turned but it hadn't. Now, we were dealing with swarms of them, possibly the townsfolk of Ramshackle, itself. A half-day's walk wouldn't really put much distance between us and would not prove difficult for them to find us.
"We shoulda burned that town to the foundations," Walter said bitterly as he chewed on some of the meat, "Maybe that woulda given us a good start. Distract 'em, you see..."
I nodded, kicking myself for not having thought of it. I looked up briefly and looked around. Now I was embroiled in a mystery concerning these damned parasites and the whereabouts of Severn. I asked Walter if he knew what happened to Isaac's weapons.
"That Mr. Stephens took them before he ran," he said, "Ain't right if ya ask me. Man like that didn't earn 'em. Hope they blow up in his hands when he shoots. It would serve him right."
I didn't say any more. He was right. On top of killing Isaac, the town being overrun at night by the undead, I needed to get him to Cactus Junction and do it before sundown. We still had a few hours of walking left. I stayed close as we walked, keeping my eyes moving around. Aside from the sagebrush, there was nothing along our path but the sun beating down on the both of us.
We reached Cactus Junction and, to our relief, there were people there, bartering, trading and going about their business. We moved more deeply into the city and stopped into The Lucky Star Saloon. Unlike Ramshackle's saloon, this one was teeming with life. In Cactus Junction, it almost seemed as if the world had decided to stick around instead of drifting like I had been in the last couple of months.
A couple of people called Walter's name and approached the table. For the first time, I saw Walter smile. The lines on his face becoming both more apparent and giving him a warm look. The men who approached him were introduced to me as Julius Holmes and Fritz Davis, both young men in their thirties. They were almost certain he'd died, occupying the town alone. I asked them if they had any troubles at night in this town. Surely, an walk across the desert of several hours wouldn't be any good distance to things that could fly.
"None so far, Sai Quincey," Julius said, "All the same, nights around here in the Junction are pretty normal."
I nodded but urged caution. Those things would undoubtedly go where the food is and it probably wouldn't be long until they were discovered. Julius and Fritz bought us drinks and we sat discussing the events of the last day or so. When I asked about Isaac and Severn, their faces became somber.
"Isaac was a good man," said Fritz, "honorable. Never had an unkind word to anyone."
"It was the man who accompanied him," said Julius, "Severn, he made every damn one of us uneasy. The guy always seemed like he was trying to look into you...or through you. He just had this really distant gaze at times. Especially when he was by himself and would get all kinda sideways atcha if ya disturbed him."
"We just steered clear of him," said Fritz, "Something about him told us he was bad news. The night that Walt saw Isaac shot dead in the street, that's when we knew for sure. The Sheriff went after him but never returned."
"Heard he came through here," said Julius, "but everyone we talked to said he was just passing through. Everyone thought he was one of your Order, Sai Quincey. They really didn't know he was a traitor. Hope you find the sumbitch and hang 'im high."
I nodded. I drank as I listened to the two of them fill in details that led up to the day they chose to flee with their families.
"Take good care of Walter," I said, "He's been a good friend to a weary traveler. Listen to him when he tells you of the danger he faces. He speaks true."
I shook their hands and decided to keep moving. I had to find Severn and hold him to account for his betrayal of our Order. I vowed this would be a reckoning he wouldn't soon forget.
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