Paladins: A Post-apocalyptic Western

Prologue-4

TO SAY ANK WAS CORNERED would have been an understatement; in fact, he was surrounded: surrounded by the strange, pale raptors who circled him slowly within the corral, surrounded by the corral’s fencing, surrounded by the townsfolk who had pressed against its perimeter and trained their rifles and pistols upon them, and surrounded by the sound of Rimshaw’s voice, which echoed off the nearby buildings, the Papago Cash Store and Bauer’s Union Market, Fly’s Boarding House, the Palace Saloon.

“You only need remember two things,” he shouted, aiming his rifle at Ank—and only Ank. “And that is to aim for the armored dinosaur’s eyes ... and that he is the bigger threat. Now let loose some hell, and let’s take back our town.”

His voice cracked and seemed to change tenor as he shouted.

“Belay that order!” belted Decker, leaping onto the first wrung of the fence so that everyone could see him. “Can’t you see what’s going on here? Look at them! They’re the same type of animal that almost killed Creebald and Teller.”

“Pig,” said one of the raptors, glaring at him.

“Eggsucker,” said the other.

“Don’t you see? Ank has lured them here to protect us, not hurt anyone. Let them fight. If you can get a clear shot at the raptors, take it. But let the armored dinosaur be.”

There was a c***k! As Rimshaw squeezed off a shot at him, grazing him in the leg, and he toppled from the fence.

And then everything was chaos and fury as the raptors charged and the townsfolk opened fire—at Ank, apparently, for his great shell sparked and crackled as though strung with firecrackers. And so furious was the combat that few noticed the guns being shot from everyone’s hands one by one—nor Decker crawling toward Rimshaw until he was able to grapple with him from the ground—at least until Ank spun suddenly and brought his great, clubbed tail whistling around, knocking one of the raptors clean off its feet and sending it smashing through the boards of the corral ... where Williams stood propped up by Katrina, his guitar case open upon the ground and his hands sighting what appeared to be an exquisitely-crafted rifle, which he pumped and fired again, knocking the weapon from Rimshaw’s hands.

His claws.

Then the wounded raptor pounced upon both Rimshaw and Decker—or perhaps just Decker, it wasn’t entirely clear—and Williams simply took it out, pow, like that, right between its eyes. At last he looked at Ank in time to see the armored dinosaur charge the remaining raptor like a ram—smashing it off its feet so that it blasted through the boards of the corral and took out the window of the Papago Cash Store.

And then it was over, save for the struggle between Rimshaw and Decker—who managed to free himself from the half-man’s grip even as the former Marshal completed his transformation into a slathering beast, which circled and paced as the townsfolk gathered around and Williams levelled his rifle.

“Pig,” spat the Rimshaw-raptor venomously. “Eggsucker.”

Williams squinted, sighting him between the eyes.

“Pig-fucker. Human filth.”

Decker stood, bracing himself against the fence. “And behold their latest abomination,” he said, and indicated Teller’s body, which had reverted to human form and lay dead upon the ground. Someone handed him his rifle. “A dinosaur that will not only tear you to pieces ... but turn you into itself if you survive. Like a werewolf. Or a zombie.”

He gazed at the sky, at the alien lights which bled in and out of each other and seemed redder than usual, angrier. “Just their latest attempt to scrub us from the face of the earth. To erase us from time itself.” He looked back at the thing that was Rimshaw. “The Marshal, having been wounded the least, took longer to transition. That’s all.”

“Pestilence!” hissed the raptor. “Ape-man. Evolutionary dead-end. A mistake of your God.”

And then its eyes lightened inexplicably and its voice became like that of Rimshaw, the old Rimshaw—only tortured, frightened, alone. “Help me,” he—it—whimpered softly, agonizingly. “Please ... God. Shoot me.”

But Williams couldn’t do it, and only continued staring at him down the length of his barrel.

“Please ... God. Do it.” His voice changed yet again. “Pig-fucker. Eggsucker. Human— ”

And the thing leapt at him—at which instant there was a c***k! as Decker fired and a stream of blood shot no less than seven feet from its head. Then it fell, convulsing ... and died. And no one said anything as thunder rumbled in the distance and rain began to spot everyone’s faces, including Ank’s, which only looked on, grayly, stoically.

––––––––

* * * *

BY THE TIME EVERYONE gathered at the downed gates to see Ank and Williams off, there were three new graves out at Serpent’s Butte and the worst of the rain had passed.

“See?” said Williams, showing someone the hidden compartment beneath the guitar façade in his case for the millionth time. “I don’t play. I never have. At least, I don’t think I did.”

“But how’d you come to be so good with that rifle?” asked Someone Else. “Ain’t never seen anything like that in my whole life.”

Williams stroked Ank between the eyes. “That’s something I hope to find out ...” He glanced at Katrina and smiled. “When I get to Tanelorn.”

She approached him slowly and looked up into his eyes, then kissed him softly on the cheek. “You know where we’re at, cowboy, if you don’t find what you’re looking for. Or even if you do.”

He smiled down at her, as inexplicably drawn to her as he had been from the beginning. “I will. Take care of yourself, okay?” He looked at Decker, who was wearing a bigger badge than he had before. “Marshal.”

And then they were on their way, north toward Montana and a city called Mirabeau Park, leaving Devil’s Gorge to brood beneath the rain, forgotten by time, alone against its hills.