The Desert

== Chapter 1
=Scene 1
01
The desert was like any other desert, except this one was made up of sand and hu
man remains. Blood, guts and faecal matter, but also clothes, possessions: those
necessities for travel. The man didnt care for them. He stepped over them, grima
cing as he heard small crunches under his boot. He looked down, and was shocked
by what he saw: a mans head, cleanly severed from his body, had been half-buried
in the sand, sitting still as it decomposed and became the home for maggots. Th
ey flowed out of the head quickly, the nose crushed in several places, revealing
the horrors underneath. Those must have been the crunches he thought. He steppe
d off it and looked up at the sky, and he squinted at the sudden brightness his
eyes encountered, raising his hand to shield the sudden intrusion to him.
Even after being here such a long time, he was still not used to its natural glo
w. He figured hed have around five hours before it came back down again. And then
they would come out, they, lurking in the dark as he sat by his campfire, cooki
ng the remains of whatever scraps of animal meat he could find. He didnt cook hum
an meat however, no amount of starvation could bring himself to do something so
horrible. Besides, most of it was rotten anyway.
He stretched out his arms, his brown coat itching at his sweaty shoulders, conce
aling his guns in his belt. Made for him once he became of age, moulded to his h
ands large size. His hand reached down out of pure instinct, checking that they w
ere still there. He felt the smooth grip of one, the wood-stained handles, the f
eeling of home. They hadnt left him. They were a part of him, and he couldnt affor
d to lose them. The last thing he had left of home. His boots were dusty and tal
l, protecting his lower calves from the desert, and he tucked his pants into the
m loosely, covering his legs from bottom to top. From time to time sand would ge
t in, and hed stop and take them off, pouring out the sand and whatever else had
crawled in there - he had found a rat once, and cooked it almost immediately aft
er. That had been a good day for him.
The desert went on for kilometres, the pile of remains and thin grass dotted amo
ngst it. The hardest part wasnt going through this hell it was near impossible fo
r him to find a place to camp. The few spots he could find had been littered wit
h the decaying corpses of small animals he used to hunt: the smell of these was
almost unbearable, even to him, and the skeletons of small children, two of them
, holding each others hand with one, and the other holding what he presumed was a
teddy bear (or their dead parents).
He cocked his head to the left, and suddenly swiveled around. His hand was alrea
dy down, his fingers brushing the smooth handle of one of his guns. Something mo
ved towards him. At least, he thought it was moving. He looked now, but there wa
s no movement in this dead desert. He relaxed, and turned back around, but almos
t immediately turned, this time with his gun drawn, and he fired a round. It wen
t straight through the mutants arm and ripped it from its socket. It swung its ot
her arm at him, and he ducked under it. He had enough time to see how slender it
s fingers were (like old man Chet in the saloon) as he fired another round, this
time into the mutants head. It stopped and fell to the floor, and then he saw th
e rest of them. Five other mutants had crept up as the first one attacked, and t
he man had only just seen them now. He quickly, without thinking, grabbed two mo
re rounds from his belt and loaded them into his revolver with lightning speed.
He parried to the left as another mutant swiped at him, and then he raised his g
un and he fired. His hand, trained since he was a boy, fanned the hammer and six

shots rang out.

Six mutants dropped dead, with bullet holes entrenched in their heads.
He put his gun back into his holster, after he had put in another six rounds. Im
starting to run low damn it, and these arent the most reliable ones around he tho
ught, and how in the hell did they sneak up on me like that? Theyre getting smart
er.
He continued walking, being more cautious about the amount of sound that he was
making. He couldnt risk another encounter like that - the next one wouldnt be so e
asy. He kept on walking through the desert.
Later, it must have been two days or so, he saw something that he couldnt quite f
ocus in on his eyes werent like how they used to be. Before, he could spot a man
many spans away, but now, after coming through this hell, his eyes had deteriora
ted severely, just like the rest of his body. He saw or thought I saw was a smal
l structure, no bigger than a tent, standing out against the endless desert back
drop. But this couldnt be, he knew, there was no one else out here in this hell.
He was alone. Except at night.
He pressed on, trudging towards this mirage that he held on to for as long as he
could. He knew that this structure wasnt real, but his mind refused to believe i
t. His body did too. He tipped his hat to temporarily block the sun, and squinte
d his eyes (if you looked at them youd see his dark brown, tired eyes) and he tri
ed to gain some clarity of this mirage. He had no such luck.
After walking for a long time he finally reached it, and this time, he was right
. It was real. But it wasnt a tent however, but a large rack, with leather stripe
d across, attached to two poles as it baked in the hot sun. The smell was repuls
ive, and he quickly blocked his nose with his left hand, the other hand dropped
down next to his gun. He inspected closer, and found that it had been used recen
tly. Next to it, a small fire had been made. He could see a cigar butt buried am
ongst the ashes (oh that sweet tobacco how I love thee) and he picked it up, and
put it in his mouth. It was cold. Even after sitting with the ashes for God kno
ws how long, it was still cold and empty, devoid of any tobacco.
He looked up again, at that bright, orange sun, and realised that it was much la
ter than he expected. He couldnt stop here though, it was too open, too exposed.
Times before hed been lucky, and found natural dents in the desert, holes filled
with bodies and coffin flies, and he had been able to fashion himself a small sh
elter, albeit a smelly one. But when he looked about him, there were no hills, o
nly flat land forever. This would have to make do. He took off his heavy pack an
d placed it on the ground, moving away a half decomposed skull, and placed it on
the hot sand. He felt the enormous weight of his guns on his belt, and took tho
se off too. Without them he was naked, alone, and he begrudgingly put them back
on again. He felt secure, safer with those on. He opened up the pack, and took o
ut a large tin box, filled with small twigs. His tinder box that he had since he
was but a boy, still serving him to this day.
Twigs, twigs, help me sire, give this blessed man a fire, his voice was coarse and
deep, struggling to make the words coherent. He was thirsty, and only had the c
omfort of irradiated water he could find in this desert, save the small rations
of water he was saving in his water skin. He struck the twigs together, and a sm
all fire sparked, and so he dropped the twigs on the floor and covered them with
others, making a small fire (not the mightiest but it would do I suppose). He c
ouldnt cook anything on it, on something so small, but it provided light for when
they came out. And he supposed that that was for the best.
He was exhausted, and the fire seemed enchanting to his tired eyes. It seemed to

beckon him to sleep, to draw him into a state of insecurity, but he could not l
et himself do so. And yet at the same time, it made sense. He had walked so long
and so far, why must he always be on his guard? He pushed his guns (those evil
guns those evil guns) away from him now , seeing them as no longer protection bu
t a source of evil. They could hurt him, they could stop him from sleeping. Whil
e near them he could hear the voices beckoning to stay awake and alert but he wa
s already taken by the fire. It had entranced him completely, and the guns becam
e useless to him.
He took the fires suggestion, and he slept. His guns metres behind him, the thoug
hts of the horrors of the world disappearing as the shadows took over and his dr
eams of home turned into nightmares.
When the man woke up, he saw his mother next to him. She smiled at him, the smil
e only a mother could give to her first-born son, and she looked at him with lov
e.
Come to the light my darling, its so peaceful here! she said to him, raising a fing
er, beckoning him towards her. He moved towards her slowly, his body aching all
over, crawling towards his mother. Im coming! he tried to say, but he had no energy
to speak (didnt she die?). The thought quickly appeared, and this stopped him cr
awling. Come on, hurry! She called out to him, her face changing to concern as he
stopped crawling. He dismissed the thought, the idea of the light and what it en
tailed enticed him, and he continued (it was the fire it was the fire) crawling.
He looked back up at her, but it was no longer her mother. Come along now, the fac
e said, its eyes slowly enlarging until they popped out, dangling out of their s
ockets. Its flesh dripping and turning green, crawling with maggots and puss. Com
e now! it cried out in a low, demonic voice. He froze in anguish, and tried to mo
ve backwards. He was paralysed (the light the light) and could only watch the th
ing transform in front of him. Out of where his once mothers arm was, grew a set
of tentacles, with pincers scattered across them, snapping ferociously at him. I
ts head expanding, with eyes growing out of its pores, puss dripping out of ever
y orifice. He could only lie there as he watched it unfold, unable to (the guns
the guns) move.
As he thought of his guns, the thing seemed to recoil, and his paralysis was tem
porarily broken. He quickly got up, and raced back towards them. Its tentacles l
unged out, its pincers ripping his shirt off his body - you could see his chest
covered in scars. He dove down, reaching out to one of his guns, and pointed it
straight at the thing. Back, beast! He cried out, suddenly able to speak with the
adrenaline coursing through his body, and he cocked his gun, aiming it as one of
its eyes he had no time to check if it was loaded, he could only hope that the
mutant hadnt removed the bullets from it.
It continued lurching forward, and he fired. Its eyes popped as his bullets flew
(and flew true they did) and he blasted three of its eyes out before it stopped
and snarled, repulsive liquids pouring out of its mouth. It finally stopped, bu
t its tentacles still whipped at him, its large pincers snapping at his bare fle
sh as he slowly backed off, still aiming his gun at the thing. Back I say! He fire
d three more times, emptying his gun. The things remaining eyes popped as it crie
d out and shrieked with pain. It slowly started to dissolve and bubble like acid
, slowly melting away into the eternity that was the desert. Youll never find it, i
t whispered, almost too quiet for him to hear, as it melted and was sucked back
into the sand.
He fell on the floor in exhaustion as the thing disappeared from his view, gone
from the surface. He looked down at his hands, and saw that he was shaking. He g
rabbed at his right hand, and realised that it was bleeding. A pincer, in a last
ditch attempt to injure him, and nipped at his hand and gotten off a chunk of f

lesh. It was bleeding like a fountain.

He grimaced, not in pain, but at the damage that had happened to his shooting ha
nd he had run out of bandages many days ago, and he didnt have anything to stop t
he bleeding with. He only had two shirts left, save his fathers, and he couldnt br
ing himself to use a shirt he found in the desert. He looked back at his hand to
assess the damage. It was no longer bleeding, but it had now turned yellow. It
was not a good sign for him, an infection would surely be the death of him at th
is point in his journey.
He decided that he had no choice but to use a shirt. He set his back down on th
e ground, and pulled out his oldest shirt. It was a dark blue work shirt, and mo
st of the buttons were missing. It was thick and large, and the left sleeve had
nearly been torn to shreds, along with the collar. He scrunched the shirt up and
wrapped it around his hand tight. The pain made him wince, but he kept it tight
.
He pulled out a small pouch, and produced a small bottle of golden-brown liquid
. It was his mothers pain medicine from when he was a child, that she used when h
e had fallen off a horse whilst chasing after a thief who had taken his favourit
e hat. He had fallen off the horse and smacked his leg on a nearby rock in the f
all, and he had been stepped on in several places, including his groin. His fath
er had found him lying in a small pool of blood some hours after when he had gon
e out looking for him with two other men, and he had rushed him home to stop his
bleeding. His mother had pulled out the very same button and rubbed it on the b
ruised areas. Now, now, my sweetheart, its going to be okay. Just rest your head a
nd lie in bed, and all your troubles will go away. She would say to him as he fel
l into a deep sleep.
His sudden thought to the past had shocked him, and he shook his head and dismis
sed it. That was a different time, and he couldnt afford to think of it now. Not
until he had left this desert.
He opened the bottle and took in its smell, giving him a sense of nostalgia as m
emories of his childhood came flooding back. He poured a small amount of it on h
is hand, and welcomed its warm, sharp sting as it starting to work. The smell wa
snt a pleasant one now, but the sentimentality kept him from blocking his nose. H
e put the cork back into it, and put it back into the pouch. It was still dark,
and he couldnt afford to stop now. He would have to keep moving, and he would hav
e to rest once first light had broken out. He didnt like this prospect. He began
to move anyway.
He walked through this desert until the sun rose up from the distant hills, its
bright orange light basking over the waste land that only he and they inhabited,
and he felt some assurance in this. He had made good distance, and he had found
a good spot to stop and rest. He couldnt risk lighting a fire, not with what had
happened in the hours before. He cleared away the bodies, what he realised were
a family of five, and put his pack down on to the sand. He lay down, resting hi
s head on his large pack, and he finally was able to sleep. The shadows didnt inv
ade his dreams this time, but they still werent pleasant.
=Scene 2
02
He walked for three more days and three more nights, but he didnt encounter any m
ore of them. He couldnt afford to. He had only a handful of bullets left, and he
could only rely on a few of them to fire.
03

Bang. Bang.
Click.
Bang.
Bang. Click.
04
He was down to only four perfect bullets, and fifteen drenched ones in his belt.
He assumed that they would fire only when it was inconvenient - it always seeme
d to be like that with bullets.
He saw another structure. And then another one. More structures as he walked. He
was so happy to see these (Im finally out of the blasted desert!). He saw a grou
p of people, walking tall with broad shoulders and large guns in their hands wit
h broad-rimmed hats. These were men. He slowly approached them with caution, pre
vious times he approached people like this, they wound up lying face first with
a bullet in their chest. He hadnt seen a friendly face for weeks (or was it month
s? Years? When did I leave?) and he didnt want to have to kill more people. At th
at thought, he swiveled around again, hearing the sound of boots on sand, and ha
d his gun knocked out of his hand. Standing before him was a large, bare-chested
man, who seemed to tower over him. He threw a punch at his head, and he ducked
down, and tried to counter it with a kick, the man caught it. His leg was in the
tight grip of the mans arm, and it bulged with muscle as his grip tightened. He
threw him high in the air, higher than he thought someone could throw, and then
he came crashing down into the sand, breaking his fall with his arms.
The large man growled at him, and pulled out a large sledgehammer. He looked beh
ind, and waved a hand at the men that the man was looking at just a minute ago,
and they rushed over with their guns trained on him (fucking ambush this far out
).
Well well well, one of them said, who he presumed to be the leader. Youre pretty far
out, aintcha? Walked across the ol desert amiright? Answer me! He slapped him hard
in the face, but he didnt react. Well we can get right down to the brass tacks the
n, cant we? Im Straub and this eres me little gang of rascals. Got sent west by ol Ar
thur to look for some supplies. You got any? The man shook his head, and received
another slap. This one was harder, yet still, no response. Take that as a no the
n. Well ya look strong, and we need workers. Youre gonna be coming with us for a
while matey-moo. One of the rascals came towards him, and whispered something in
his ear. The man didnt hear much, but he heard the one word that mattered: gunsli
nger.
Straubs eyes suddenly widened and his eyebrows raised in surprise as he heard thi
s word. He realised that the man saw this, and he quickly reverted to his previo
us expression of authority. Jack ere tells me youre a gunslinger aint too many of you
around these days. We could find some use for you I reckon! He looked down at hi
s belt, and saw the massive guns that hung low. Thems definitely gunslinger weapon
s, you best take em off first. In fact, Ill get Jack here to take em for ya. He beck
oned to Jack, and pointed at his belt. Jack followed his finger and saw those gu
ns, and he shrunk away. N-n-no sir! Ive heard stories I have bout them gunslingers!
Theyre dangerous folk yousee! His last two words came out as a squeak as Straub g
rabbed him by the neck and pulled him towards him. Listen here mate, if you dont t
ake those fucking guns from him Ill do it, and youll be a lot more hurt from me th
an anything hed ever give you. His eyes widened in fear at the prospect at this id
ea, and he sheepishly nodded. He walked towards the man slowly, cautious of what
he was capable of.
He had read stories about them, that was the truth. He heard of one that took do
wn 6 men with only a spoon - but his older brother had told him that one, and he
was always trying to make Jack seem like an idiot. He hated him so much, he was

so much stupider than he was, but he didnt tell him that. He heard another story
from Arthur, the Mayor, who said that a gunslinger could hypnotise you with one
of their bullets and make you do whatever they wanted. He looked at his belt an
d saw those bullets now, and he shuddered in fear.
The gunslinger saw this, and he found himself smiling for once. Jack reminded hi
m of what he was like at his age - he saw the gunslingers, the true gunslingers
of old, as exactly as how Jack saw him now: some sort of alien death creature.
Ill help you out, He said in a low voice. He spoke as reassuring as he could, but t
his didnt help Jack at all. He jumped back again at this sudden dialogue. The gun
slinger reached down slowly, and unbuckled his gunbelt, loosened the leather and
let it drop to his knees. The guns made a soft clunk as they hit the sand, and
the other men jumped at that sound too (these men are all so jumpy, arent they?)
but they kept their weapons trained on him.
Straub seemed happy with this, and he produced a set of silver handcuffs. He adm
ired them for a moment, and then threw them at the gunslingers feet. Reckon a guy
like you knows how to use them, dont cha? Put em on, nice and slow. The gunslinger
looked around, and nodded, slowly putting the cuffs around his wrists, and close
d them. They were tight, but not too tight; they were just right. Straub saw thi
s, and he let out a slow chuckle. Nice try there mate, put tighten em up a little
more wont ya? He walked over, grabbed the cuffs with his hands and squeezed hard.
The metal dug into his wrists, and the gunslinger winced with pain. He could fee
l blood oozing out now, and his hands started to feel weak. Aaand thats about perf
ect! Lets get a move on ladies, were gonna get ourselves a nice lil reward for this
one! The man all cheered as the started to march on. The gunslinger was in fron
t, with Straub directly behind him, his gun barrel digging into his back.
So whats your name anyhow? Arthurs gonna wanna have something to call you by I reck
on. The gunslinger told him his name. Aint that a crazy coincidence! Cant say thats
what Id have picked for ya, but if thats your name then I suppose thats your name. T
he gunslinger nodded, and another slight smile broke out on his face. He had bee
n in that desert for too long, and even though these men captured him and pushed
him around, he couldnt help but be the slightest bit happy at some human company
for once.
05
They walked for around three hours. During that time, the person pressing the gu
n barrel into the gunslingers back changed repeatedly. The last person to do this
was Jack - Straub probably did this intentionally. He would see Jack constantly
cower during battle, shivering at simple things. Who hasnt seen a popped eyeball
now and again? Straub certainly had seen his fair share. So when he saw Jack wi
ncing as he saw these things, Straub got mad. Couldnt have no softies working und
er his command. He figured the gunslinger would be tired and irritable, and less
likely to be respectful. So he made Jack go last, thinking that the gunslinger
would scare him into a man. He was wrong.
The gunslinger was able to understand what Straub had done. He said this to Jack
almost immediately. You understand why youre the last one here, dont you? He asked
in a whisper. The other men had started to lag behind, and he was able to talk t
o Jack with relative privacy. Jack shook his head. Theyre probably just tired righ
t? Im the youngest, Ive got more energy than they do. The gunslinger started to lau
gh. No, its because youre the weakest. Straub knows it, and the others do too. Youre
scared. Havent seen a proper battle yet. He probably wants me to scare some sens
e into you.
Jack stopped walking, just for a second, but then continued again. A-a-are you? He
managed to say. His hands were trembling, and the guns barrel was no longer digg
ing into the gunslingers back. I dont like Straub, so no. But take some advice from
me: get away from these people. They wont help you, youre not right for this kind

of thing. Jack shook his head in disagreement. No, no, I cant just quit. My father
would lash me! Our ancestors were all warriors, and I have to be one too! He had
lowered the gun almost completely, and he could feel the tears starting to come
. He couldnt let them come, and he tried his hardest to maintain his composure.
The gunslinger didnt say anything. He kept on walking, simply relishing the the l
ack of feeling in his back.
They finally reached the town of Martslock, and found it under siege.
Martslock
If youre a new resident of Martslock, you can usually get the jist of the town by
talking to Old Man Don (as so lovingly called by his family). For general direc
tions, most people would recommend going to the Saloon, once an old post office.
Bruce, a young man in his twenties ran the joint. He could fix prices to his he
arts desire - you could get a sandwich for three gold or thirty, depending on how
much gold he thought you d have. He can sense a newcomer from a kilometre away,
and he always fixes up those prices real good when they come on in.
If alcohol aint your poison, you can visit Chet in the saloon, and for a price hel
l play you a ragtime tune from way back and hell croon his little heart out, unti
l a good four minutes is up and hell ask for some more gold. Dont have any more, a
nd hell tell you to fuck off until you get some more. You dont have to go to Chet,
but after a while Bruce will come over and start yammering on about insulting h
im and his staff. Most people leave the saloon the next day with their pouches m
uch lighter than before, and their memories much harder to remember than usual.
Otherwise, theres Trudy that runs the general store a little further in town, but
asides from that, the town of Martslock doesnt have much for the average travell
er. Its still quite hospitable, but theres better places to stop.
Theres also worse places to stop.
The people of Martslock are quite friendly, and might even let you stay with the
m for the night if they like the look of ya, but word gets round quickly, and tha
ts when Tina comes in. Shes able to hear almost everything, and passes on the goss
ip she hears to anyone who happens by her old wooden house. Shell raise her cane
at somebody and shriek Looks like Farros got a new mistress! and rarely do people w
alk away when she does that. No, theyll come on in and sit down with a refreshing
glass of what she calls Lemonade, and shell talk to you for hours about her goss
ip. Only if youre dumb enough to stay for that long, that is. Shes been privy to s
ome of the darkest secrets that this town has held, but no one really knows for
sure how she gets them. Theyre all right though, and never has she said something
that hasnt been correct.
Martslock is a nice enough town to newcomers, and most of its residents have con
sidered themselves lucky to have lived there.
Until today that is.
01
Raids happen often enough in towns this far out in the Salt, but up until now, n
o-one from Martslock had seen one like this. Wave after wave of mutants came cra
wling through the sand towards the towns walls, making loud, disturbing noises as
they came crawling up. One of the men standing watch saw this, and he raised hi
s gun to fire. He parted his lips and prepared to yell out to his men, but he sc
reamed instead as a mutant slashed his throat. His gun fell to the floor and it
fired with a loud bang, which immediately alerted Straub.
Shit! Muties hitting the town! He barked, and they broke out into a run. Straub st
arted barking orders at his men, and began to fire. The gunslinger saw this, and

he was pleased. Bullet after bullet flew through the air, and many missed. The
few that hit the mutants seemed to only piss them off. Those that were lagging b
ehind from the main assault turned around, and started to come towards them.
Jack started to shake with fear. Ive never seen so many hit at once we dont have eno
ugh people to be able to take them all! He raised his own gun, but he couldnt stop
his hands shaking. It would be the waste of a good bullet. The gunslinger saw t
his as a chance. Take these fucking cuffs off me and Ill be able to help. He said i
n his calmest voice. I cant do that! Straubll kill me! No sooner than those mutants w
ill. If you want them all to die just leave me here and Ill sort myself out. Your
call. He raised his hands and shook the cuffs in front of him. Jack pondered thi
s for a moment, and then shrugged. Shit, fine. Thisll be the end of me. He threw th
e gunslinger the key, and he removed the cuffs.
He let out a sigh of relief as the cuffs dropped on to the sand, and he shook an
d rubbed his wrists. Better, much better. Guns. Jack looked around, and spotted th
e gunbelt lying on the floor. He threw it to him, along with his rifle. Im a terri
ble shot, youll be better with it. THe gunslinger said nothing. He caught the belt
in the air, and put it on (much better with this on), and pulled out a gun. It
was still loaded with the good rounds. He pointed it at Jack, who cowered away i
n fear. Watch. He spun the gun around twice, and then turned at fired without look
ing. Three more shots rang out before Jack realised what had happened. Later, wh
en he would think back to that moment, hed realise that he didnt even see the guns
linger look at where he was shooting - yet all the bullets flew true and four mu
tants dropped to the floor.
One of those was attacking Straub, and when it dropped he turned and looked stra
ight down a gun barrel, followed by the gunslingers stern face. What the - It fired
again, and a mutant behind Straub stopped in its tracks and died. Straub was al
most beside himself at this point, and he started to say something, but he could
nt. Like Jack, he had heard stories of gunslingers, but he didnt think they were t
rue. And here he was, mouth agape as he watched a man (is he a man is he a man?)
reloading a gun faster than he had ever seen, like it was an extension of his a
rm. He turned back around, and continued firing (thisll be awkward once its over).
They didnt seem to stop coming, and they got bigger and bigger as they came. They
were more varied too: in his time at Martslock, he only ever saw one kind of mu
tant. It was hideous to say the least, looking more animal than man, with two (J
im said there was one with three) arms and two legs, often walking slow but stri
king hard. What he saw now was different to that. These were large, almost like
blobs of meat with long tentacles with pincers - like those little things hed see
scurrying around while he was walking around. He saw one of them pick up a man
who was still screaming with terror as the pincers came out and cut his hand off
, and then his arm and then sliced his neck with blood gushing out. He raised hi
s gun and fired repeatedly, but the bullets didnt seem to have any effect. He kep
t on firing, but then he heard a loud click. Empty. He moved to reload, and then
he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and grabbed his pistol, tucked conven
iently into the waistband of his pants and raised it, but it was smacked out of
it almost immediately. Hes gone, your gun wont do anything. The gunslinger said, and
pressed a finger to his lips. Silence. Look around. Straub did, and he realised t
hat there was only one mutant left. The one he just saw kill a man, whose body h
ad now disappeared. Fucking kill it already. The gunslinger did so.
02
Jack ran up to him, looking at the gunslinger in awe. He peered into his dark br
own eyes, but he couldnt see much life left in them. You did it you did it! He mana
ged to stay amidst his mumblings. The gunslinger turned and nodded slightly, and
then punched Straub in the face. He fell down to the floor, writhing in pain at
this sudden assault. Handcuff me again and Ill shoot your kneecaps. Straub muttere
d something under his breath. Under normal circumstances, it wouldnt have been he

ard, but these arent ordinary. The gunslinger fired and the
into the sand, just an inch below where Straubs crotch was.
ing got it! Straub cried out, his hands raised. He had been
ng man. He holstered his gun, and he started to walk towards

bullet lodged itself

Okay okay okay! I fuck
reduced to a whimperi
the town.

Hey, wait up! Jack ran after him. Here, Ill take you to Arthur. Hes like the sheriff w
ell the mayor around here. Talk to him, tell him what happened here. He walked in
to town without saying a word.
03
Martslock is easy to navigate enough. The gunslinger could have found Arthur on
his own - most mayors are easy to spot. They walk with an unearned sense of prid
e, and often theyre the fattest of the lot. So when he saw a fit, dark man with g
rey hair and a beard jog towards him, he dismissed him initially as just another
resident. Dont have any gold to spare. He said, and shot him a glare.
Woah there, easy. Aint looking for gold. Names Arthur, I run this here little town.
Jack told me to come talk to you.
As he would, but I thought it would be best to come see what happened myself. Shi
t like this doesnt happen often. Havent had one of my men ever try and capture a g
unslinger before. He looked at him, and gave a wide smile. The gunslinger realise
d just how white his teeth were - in fact, they were near perfect. Anyway, you ca
n tell me about this raid later. We aint animals here - well, most of us aint. Str
aubs probably the exception. Head over to the saloon and tell ol Bruce that I sent
you, hell give you a bed and some food for the night. He pointed to a large build
ing, with a sign that read UNITED POST OFFICE, OPEN DAILY in large red lettering
. He thanked him and walked over, looking around as he did. He saw a woman weari
ng a poncho smile and wave at him. Hey there stranger! Good to see you! She called
out, and the gunslinger tipped his hat. As he walked past, she started to run o
ut of the room and onto her frontyard.
There was enough
aloon. He pushed
raised and eyes
ase. There was a
n) looked around

tension to cut with a knife as the gunslinger walked into the s

the swinging doors open, and the saloon went silent. Heads were
now pointed in his direction as life in the saloon seemed to ce
murmur here and there, and a young man (That must be Bruce the
awkwardly, and then finally opened his mouth.

Come on in there mister, theres food enough for everyone in this fine establishmen
t. He gave a sly smile as he looked the gunslinger over (looks like royalty I rec
kon, gonna have a lot of gold with him). The gunslinger walked forward and sat d
own at the bar, next to an attractive young woman.
Hey there handsome, she slurred, her breath smelt of alcohol. He pushed her back l
ightly. Maybe sometime later. He said. Bruce came up to him with a pint, half-full
. Lets see your gold before ya get the drink eh? He slapped down a gold coin and b
rushed the sand off it. Thats nice isnt it? Arthur probably sent ya over, and Im inc
lined to give you a discount. He pushed the glass over, and the gunslinger raised
it to his mouth. He was about to drink, when Bruce suddenly interjected with Alt
hough, I dont have any change for you at the moment. The gunslinger lowered the gl
ass and looked at him in the eye as Bruces widened with fright. He chuckled and t
hen said wasnt expecting any. Didnt think Id find a town this far out anyway.
And right you would be, sir! Aint no town out here this far east past Martslock, t
his is pretty much all the Salts got to offer. You can take the room upstairs, bu
t thats all I can offer you with the gold youve given me.
Thats fine. He finished the beer, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. What food do
you have? Bruce gave another smile. Well we got a whole load of stuff, but nothing
youd be expecting, Mr High and Mighty Gunslinger. Hot bread with potatoes and me
at, or just meat. Dont ask where its from.
Saw some dog bowls in the houses as I was walking, but didnt hear any dogs. I wont
ask because I already know. Ill have the bread. Right away sir! He shouted something

off to behind him, and he could hear a grunt in reply. A minute later, as he wa
s looking around the saloon, he could hear the sizzle of meat being cooked on a
pan over a fire. The smell was unfathomable. He nearly started to cry. The last
cooked meal he had was six (or was it seven?) weeks ago, and the rest had been b
one dry. Men gave him strange looks, and the women just ignored it - they seeme
d to understand what he had gone through. They gave him sultry looks, but he ign
ored them. He needed food.
Bruce came back 10 minutes later, and dropped the plate in front of him. Gonna ha
ve to use your hands, cutlery seems to have gone missing. He ate with ecstasy, sa
vouring every bite as he shoved meat into his mouth with his dirty hands, and br
oke bread and mouthed it down just as heartily. To other people, it would have b
een one of the most disgusting meals they had ever eaten - the bread had at leas
t four maggots in it, and the potatoes were barely cooked. But to the gunslinger
, this was like dining in the Great Hall all over again. He loved every bit of t
he meal. It only lasted five minutes. He asked for another beer, and Bruce retur
ned to refill his glass - this time, it was full. Figured youve had a hard time if
you ate that shit as quick as you did. Take a full one why dont you? He took it
with pleasure, and drank it down in two large gulps. He coughed, clearing his th
roat, and then he spoke.
You said this was the last town this far East?
Thats right. Makes business very nice sometimes.
What happened to the others?
Wiped out sir, mutants hit most of them. Not every town happens to have a gunslin
ger protecting them, you know.
We did the best we could.
Well you certainly fucked that one up, didnt you?
The gunslinger looked at him with spite, but, he knew that he was right. They ha
d spread themselves too thin, too far over.
How far until you get to it? He didnt need to saw what it was. They all knew.
Sir if youve come all this way for that, youre going to be disappointed. Havent even
made a dent in progress walking here. Id say another few years by walking, maybe
one if you got a decent mule. Havent seen one of those for a long time too.
He nodded, but he didnt like this answer. And yet again, he knew that it was righ
t. And he should have known that this would be the case.
Youre sure theres nothing left of those towns?
Well Straub sent a few guys out there a year or two back, but they didnt find much
. Then again, they may have wandered along a different way, but Im pretty sure th
eres nothing there. Why else would the muties be here? Makes sense dont it?
It did.
04
He went up to his room a couple of hours - and drinks - later. He fell into the
bed without taking his boots off. He was tired but he couldnt sleep. He didnt trus
t Bruce - he had the perfect balance of charm and spite, and the last person he
met like that tried to kill his father. He kept his ear cocked towards the door,
in case someone tried to come up.
He was right, because at around three in the night, someone did come walking up
those steps, and he could hear the sound of a pistol being loaded. He grabbed hi
s own gun, and readied himself.
05
Before Arthur, the mayor of Martslock was an optimistic man by the name of Donal
d. Now Donald was a humble man - his father was a peasant, and his father, and p
retty much all the way down the line, a family of peasants. Donald though, he wa
s the exception. He found that he had a knack for leadership when he was a child
. He realised he could manipulate a lot of people quite easily, and he used this
to his advantage whenever he could. He stopped doing this though after his wife
realised - she threatened to leave him and take everything if he didnt reform. A
nd reform he did - he stopped drinking and smoking, he even gave away his guns.

He became a pacifist, and he saw just how bad Martslock was to the residents. No
t to the newcomers though; they saw the best of the town, and when they left it
returned to the shambles that it truly was.
He sought to fix this, and he managed to become mayor after Shaw decided to fina
lly step down - he was 67 - remarkably old, in fact, the oldest man in the town
- and Donald took his chance. He started to change the town right away, and not
many people enjoyed that, they did not. He started urging pacifism upon the town
, urging the people to please please, get rid of your guns! believing that the m
utants would leave them alone if they did. Because you see, he knew something mo
st others dont - the mutants arent completely stupid.
One day, whilst out with some other men searching for any signs of human life,
they were hit by a pack of muties, and only he and one other survived. How? By d
ropping their guns and raising their hands, making themselves look as pathetic a
s possible. The mutants slayed those with the guns, the ones who shot out twice
into the air and then screamed till their throats were cut, but Donald survived.
He raised his hands and whimpered like a child, and the mutant turned and looke
d at him, stared into his eyes - almost like it was peering into its soul - and
then walked off, kicking the gun in the process.
His new plan of pacifism would have worked for the town if they all agreed to it
. But in a place like the Salt, you develop an attachment to a weapon that can d
efend you from most monstrosities, so most people didnt really want to give up th
eir weapons. When Donald sent people - the few that agreed that pacifism was the
answer - to peoples houses to take away their guns, they were angrily shouted ou
t until they left. Those that persisted were typically beaten, no matter how you
ng they were. A boy of twelve was beaten to near death when he went to Straubs fa
mily house, and Straubs father beat him with his belt, studded with metal points.
He managed to survive, but he was unable to work or play for nearly a year.
Townspeople started meeting in secret, and Donald had no idea. Tina, the crafty
woman she was, organized the meetups in odd locations and at odd times, and ofte
n had to seduce Donald to distract him from his work. She wasnt proud of it, but
Arthur has been a much better mayor (and hes so much more attractive). They agree
d that Donald had to go - they were losing too many men to the mutants, and they
couldnt cope with losing any more. The more diplomatic of the group thought that
it was best to convince Donald to step down, but this minority was left unheard
by the rest of the people - they wanted him dead.
And
ere
ver
st,
as

so, one seemingly plain night in Martslock, as Donald walked to his home a m
40 metres away from the saloon, he heard screams from his house. He rushed o
immediately to see what was happening. When he came in, were he not a pacifi
he would have gone on a rage-induced frenzy. Yet he was calm and collective,
if somehow, he knew this would happen.

His wife was on the floor with her throat slit, but that wasnt what killed her. H
e pulled up her top and it revealed a canvas of bruises and lashes - from Straubs
whip no doubt. He nearly threw up all over the body, but he was able to compose
himself somehow. At first he thought that it was a joke, but then he finally sn
apped back to his senses a mere minute later. This was real.
He didnt have kids, but he realised that if he did, they would be in a similar st
ate too. He screamed in terror, crying for his dead wife. He turned to run out t
he door and find out what happened, but that was when he saw Tina. She was stand
ing with a wooden nail board in her hands, and hit him in the leg. He cried out
in pain and he went down, and he saw the crowd behind her. Nearly all the town h
ad turned up too see his death. The cheered on as she hit him again and again, a
ll over his body. They cheered and shouted as Donald cried out again and again a
s the nails pierced his body. Finally, she stopped and he was able to call out o

ne final thing. Youre all going to die! The nail board finally came down on his hea
d, crushing his eyes. They all cheered and fired their guns off into the air, ce
lebrating the death of the pacifist mayor.
As you can see, the people of Martslock arent really averse to killing, especiall
y those that are causing trouble. It was no surprise that a man - not a crowd slowly creeped up into the Saloon and up the stairs with a gun in his hand. He c
huckled to himself (fucking gunslingers gonna get it now he is) and kicked the do
or in, and fired.
06
He was a good shot. In fact, it was a perfect shot; straight through the gunslin
gers eye and out the back of the pillow.
At least, thats what he thought he saw. But he was too loud, and the gunslinger w
as ready.
The moment he heard the door squeak, he rolled off the bed with his gun in his h
and onto the hardwood floor. He heard the gun go off, and then he fired twice. T
he first one missed (shit how did I miss that?) but the second one hit its targe
t, and went straight through the mans gun hand, knocking the weapon out of it. He
screamed in pain as the bullet left a gaping hole, his ears still ringing from
the gunslingers gun. The gunslinger got up and covered the mans mouth.
Who sent you? He asked. He removed his hand, and the man started screaming again.
He covered his mouth again, and put his shot hand under his boot, and twisted ha
rd. Ahhh it was fucking Straub okay! He could understand him just fine, even with
his mouth muffled. Everyone would be awake now, if not for the gun but for the s
creams of the man. I had to, he said hed rape my wife if I didnt! The gunslinger pun
ched him in the stomach, and then dropped him to the floor. The Saloon wasnt safe
now, everyone would be coming. He decided to head to Arthurs - he seemed to be t
he best of the people here. Hed either help him, or hed have to kill everyone in h
is town. It wasnt the first time a gunslinger had killed every man, woman and chi
ld in a town.
He put in two new rounds into his revolver, and then holstered it. He grabbed hi
s hat from the foot of the bed and put it on, along with his gunbelt with his se
cond gun. He had bought some extra rounds that Bruce had, but he didnt know how r
eliable they would be. He had 40 in total, but he knew that only two of them wou
ld work. He could do without them - he learnt how to fit with his fists too, not
just the guns - but he was getting older, and he couldnt throw a punch like he u
sed to.
07
Arthur heard the shot, and immediately clambered out of his bed and put on his b
oots. He turned around and looked back at his bed to tell his wife something, bu
t then he stopped. His wife wasnt there. Just a fantasy he used to tell himself.
His wife died a couple of years back in a mutant raid, no thanks to Donalds pacif
istic ways. He grabbed his rifle, resting on the wall next to the door, and look
ed out the window. His house had the best view in town, and he could see almost
all of it from there. He got a better view if he went upstairs too; he had that
luxury as the mayor.
He glanced over houses, and passed his eye over Tinas house, just for a moment. H
e saw a flicker of light, and then it disappeared (probably just grabbin a snack)
. He looked over to the Saloon, glancing at the letterings UNITED POST OFFICE, O
PEN DAILY and looked down into the the windows, past the undrawn curtains and in
to the room of the gunslinger. Arthur was getting on in age, but his eyesight wa
s still damn good, and he could see the outline of the gunslinger, and what appe
ared to be another man being held at the end of his arm.
The fucks happening now he muttered to himself as he looked around for his boots. He
found them, those caricature boots of a cowboy with steel toes and golden spurs

on the heels. He looked again, and saw that the gunslinger was no longer in the
room. Moves pretty quickly I gotta say, he tried to remember how he moved when he
was younger, but he couldnt imagine it was half as fast as what he saw.
He walked downstairs into the kitchen, and walked through past the wooden table
and out the front door into the far side of Martslock. He started walking over a
s quietly as he could, making crunches in the hard sand as he walked. He could f
eel eyes watching him, but when he looked around all he saw was the unwelcoming
darkness of windows and curtains. He starting rubbing the back of his head, and
he felt a sudden soreness in his neck. He hated that feeling. It was the same on
e he had when Donald was killed. A feeling of conspiracy and betrayal. He heard
a crunch, out of sync with his own footsteps, and he snapped out of his thinking
and raised his gun. He looked up, and he saw the gunslinger with his hands rais
ed.
Im not going to shoot you. I just want some answers. Arthur didnt lower his gun.
I heard them shots. You killed somebody in there didnt you?
He shook his head. He came at me with a pistol. If I was a few years older I woul
d be dead by now. He told be Straub had sent him. I shot his hand, thats all.
Shit, this is happening again.
The gunslinger asked what, but Arthur shook his head. No time for that. You gotta
get out of here before Straub gets up. Hell kill you for sure, set the whole dam
n town on you if he has to. Ive got no intention of letting my people get gunned
down by you. The gun was still pointed at his head.
I understand. Just give me some food and bullets and Ill leave. And a map, too.
Got some food in my house, bullets should be in a drawer upstairs somewhere. Ill g
o see Straub, try and distract him for a bit. Im trusting you on this, gunslinger
. I hope you people are as noble as Ive been told.
The gunslinger smiled at this, nodded, and then walked off, crouching as he did
to minimize his noise.
When he got to the house, Straub was up. He heard the shots too, but he thought
it was his son. He usually did stupid shit like that, playing around with his gu
ns. Oh but when Straub would be through with him, hed learn not to touch his guns
. Hed learn good.
The fuck do you think youre doing! He screamed out. He jumped out of bed, and clenc
hed his fists. A woman, no more than twenty years old, raised her hand, struggli
ng to lift it as if it weighed over a tonne, and brushed his back.
Whatre you doing His hand came crashing down on hers, leaving a red mark. Get the fuc
k off me! Last time that little shit touches my things. He stormed out of the roo
m as the woman rubbed her hand, wiping her tears with the bed spread. Get away fr
om me guns you little bas--- His son, barely seven years old, was on his bed, cur
led up in a ball crying.
Daddy daddy I heard a big bang was that you? Straub looked at him, barely comprehe
nding what he saw. If he didnt touch the gun, who did?
He finally remembered why he was so happy before he was so abruptly awoken.
He had just sent Farro to kill that turd of a human gunslinger. Came up with a n
ice little threat he did too; said hed rape his wife if he didnt shoot him in the
skull. And he looked plenty scared too, told him that he had a pistol but he was
nt sure if it would fire. He remembered smacking him on the cheek, hard, and told
him that if it didnt hed come back around, and he wouldnt be so nice the second ti
me around. He looked out of his sons window, at the Saloon, and he remembered wha
t made that sound. It was the same sound that he heard when the mutants attacked
before, and suddenly dropped like flies. The gunslingers revolver (shit hes still
fucking alive). He was furious now. He looked around the kitchen, barely thinki
ng as to what he did next, and he grabbed a large knife he used to carve up meat
the day before, and he charged out of the room. Gunslinger! He roared into the ni

ght sky.
08
The house was nicely furnished (at least for this town), and it even had two sto
ries. He hadnt seen a two story house for quite some time - they were rare this f
ar out. And yet here was one that he was in, looking around for food and bullets
. He didnt imagine hed do this after spending so much time in the desert. He had f
ound quite a lot of food, but he didnt take it all. Arthur was right about one th
ing, the gunslingers were noble people. But he still took quite a lot of food, a
nd he started to walk up the stairs when he heard the screaming. He didnt recogni
se the voice, but he heard the word easily enough. He remembered the screaming v
oice of Straub when the mutants attacked, and he realised that it was him who wa
s screaming. He ignored it, he could deal with him later. Grudges can be resolve
d quickly, but couldnt be done without bullets.
He found the bedroom easily enough, and when he opened the first drawer he heard
the clattering of tiny metal objects. His heart skipped a beat when he opened i
t. Bullets. He did a quick estimate, and guessed that there were over a hundred
of them. He grabbed one, and they were the right size too. He pulled out one of
his revolvers, the one that had only three rounds in it, and put one of Arthurs i
n. It fitted perfectly. After all of this, a stroke of luck. He put what he coul
d into his belt, and then shoved the rest into his pouch. He couldnt imagine havi
ng this much ammo. He turned around to leave, and saw Arthur. His face was cover
ed in blood, but he couldnt see any cuts on him.
Straubs? He asked.
Managed to cut him with my knife as he tried to get me with his. Hes looking for y
ou, probably gonna raise the town too. You need to get out of here.
The gunslinger nodded. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a gold piece, an
d handed it to Arthur. Take this, youll need it someday. Arthur looked at it, his e
yes widening. It was so clean, so shiny, but how? He had been travelling for so
long with that pouch?
Now watch. He raised his hand, and his fingers started to twirl. Arthur peered clo
ser and realised that a bullet was dancing in between them, from the thumb to th
e pinkie, and back to the thumb over and over again. It was mesmerising. Just res
t your head and lie in bed, and all your troubles will go away. He said, thinking
back to his mothers old rhyme. Arthur grunted something, it could have been a ye
s, and then his head dropped onto the bed and his eyelids closed like doors.
He hadnt done that trick for so long, but he could still do it.