 
Duster and a Gun

Reaper

By Gregory Blackman

Published by Gregory Blackman at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Gregory Blackman

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Written in Canada.

Gregory Blackman's Collection

*Released or Coming Soon*

The Reaper Series:

Duster and a Gun:

Reaper

The Ties That Bind

New Beginnings

Revelation

Reaper's Dogma

The Kingdoms of Ash Series:

The Unseen

Blood Ties

Tip the Scales

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Duster and a Gun:

In 1447, history was rewritten when the Vatican was swallowed whole by the fiery pits of Hell. Demons, ghouls and other unspeakable horrors descended upon the land, preying on humanity; caught in the middle of a battle they knew nothing about. And so began a perpetual dark age, where ones worth was valued on how well they handle themselves in a fight. Pursuits such as peace and equal rights were put on hold, for larger firearms and the tightening of dictatorships. It was truly Hell on Earth, and Heaven didn't seem to care in the least.

By the year 2015, it was a perverse world of science, where the hydrogen bomb and steam-powered locomotive exist in unison, corrupted by the will of the supernatural. The Industrial revolution is in full swing, and the only thing faster than the rise of the USA is the inner turmoil that threatens to bring it all apart from the shadows.

Reaper:

Angels fight for Heaven, demons fight for Hell and no one fights for the humans caught in the middle—except the reapers. The greatest of humanity's offerings, they're chosen at a young age and cultivated into instruments of vengeance. This order alone fights to keep the balance in our world, steeped in controversy, rejected by those in Heaven and condemned by the monsters in Hell. This is the story of one such reaper, Horace McKidrict, and his fight to restore what was lost from him. Neither Heaven nor Hell will be able to stop the reaper on his quest to take back what he once had, and may God have mercy on any man that dares to block his path.

In the first installment of Duster and a Gun, our hero tries to piece together the life that was stolen from him. He finds himself in the Copper State, Arizona, where death and decay plague the countryside, and humans live between uncaring angels and evil monsters. Horace needs to let go of the past and embrace the future if he wants any hope to cast back the demons and unveil the mystery residing deep within the unsuspecting population.

Warning: This eBook contains graphic imagery and coarse language.
**Table of Contents**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

**01** A Calling

**02** Not Like Them

**03** One Good Deed

**04** Deserves Another

**05** Nightmares

**06** Setback

**07** Strangers All

**08** Invitation Not Refused

**09** Best Intentions

**10** Led Astray

**11** Getting Soft

**12** Fight Another Day

**13** Down And Out

**14** Trust No One

**15** Careful What You Ask

**16** You Might Not Like the Answer

**Chapter One**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

A Calling

Reaper. It was more than just a title. It was a part of me. Or at least, it used to be. My life had been taken from me, for reasons still unknown. Not that it mattered, the world had gone to hell and I was just along for the ride. Nothing would dull the pain, although I never seemed to stop trying.

"Another!" I shouted. The empty glass crashed against the counter next to the Stetson that otherwise rests on my head. My hands ran through my tousled black hair and scratch the whiskers on my chin.

"I think you've had enough, chief," replied the bartender, a fat and grisly old man. He was busting at the gut and covered in grime, the thought of a shower and new set of clothes seemingly the least of his concerns. "Last call was over an hour ago... and the bar has gotta close sometime."

He got no response, not while I contemplated my next move.

"Are you deaf or dumb?" the bartender asked, leaning towards me. "The saloon's fixin' to close for the night... it's time to pay up, pal."

Still, he received no answer. I looked him in his bloodshot eyes, pulled out a smoke, struck a match and felt the soothing release that I so desperately craved. "There are still other patrons in the bar. Two, but who's really counting? So, like I said before, I'll have another."

Three silver coins clattered on the bar, produced from the deep pockets of my walnut-colored duster. Three sparkles could be seen in the bartender's eyes, now glittering with greed. To the bartender, I had overpaid. I didn't share that opinion.

"Hey Ernie... and you, too, Chuck... get the Hell outta my goddamn bar!" shouted the bartender as he slammed his fist down on the bar. He turned to look at me, the glitter in his eyes now replaced with a foreboding darkness. "You'll get one more drink and then you pack it up for the night."

The bartender pulled a filthy bottle from underneath the bar and filled my glass. It was awful, the thought of another sip made me gag. Still, it was better than feeling—for in my line of work emotions can get a guy killed.

I waited for Chuck and Ernie to make their way out of the saloon. Some things needed to be left unseen from the eyes of the people I once vowed to protect.

"I want to show you something, old man," I said, "something very dear to my heart."

I reached into my pocket and placed a worn out photo on the bar. It was faded and the bartender looked closely. He turned it over and read the words out loud, words that still stung to this day, "It said, 'Rose and Marley, always and forever'... 'Eh, so what's this to me?"

The photo was of a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair and a hypnotizing smile. Beside the woman sat a young girl, a pretty southern belle, around the age of ten. She was a spitting image of her mother.

"I was hoping that you could tell me," I replied. I took a drag from the cigarette, sucking in deep and blowing it directly into the bartender's face. I wanted to goad him into making a mistake. I knew his true face, and that only one of us would be walking away from the bar tonight.

"I can remember everything about my life, where I was born, my childhood and my first day on the job. What I can't remember, is the last two years, or who these people are. The girl is clearly much older than two... and yet... nothing. Not one single memory of a child stirs in my head."

"Yer breaking my heart," the bartender replied sarcastically. "What makes you think that I'd know anything about them? I'm just a man runnin' a bar."

"Exactly," I said. "People come to you with their problems. Like the problem you're in tonight—."

"Hey now, don't get any ideas, slick," said the bartender as he leaned forward, a grin stretched from ear to ear. "You wouldn't like the results."

Too late, I pressed the barrel of my revolver to his chin. I refused to blink as I knew full well the bartender would break me in half if I flinched, even in the slightest.

"I know what you are... and you're no man. Nothing so depraved of soul could ever call themselves one of Adam's descendants. I'm looking for a feeding den... the closest one to be exact."

The bartender's laughter echoed through the bar, defiant to the end. I knew his kind well, and the one thing we both respected and feared was power. He didn't take his eyes off me, as he tried to search into my soul and understand the man I truly was. "I've never heard of any such place. I think you're mistaken, pal... painfully mistaken."

"Cut the bullshit," I said, "I'm not about to dispute their existence with you. Either you tell me what I need to know, or I'll relieve you of this life."

"You've got balls, kid," the bartender laughed. "I like that. I'll tell you what you need to know, but first, I'm just _dying_ to know how such a miserable little shit like you has come here in search of this den. Surely you can't be so _willing_ to die?"

"I'm the one asking questions here," I answered, dropping the cigarette to the floor; after all, common courtesy had pretty much flown out the window at this point.

"Indulge me," the bartender said with a smile. He pressed his chin against the barrel of the gun. He was taunting me, daring me to pull the trigger. "What drives you to the feeding dens, cowboy?"

"I'm chasing someone," I replied; nothing more and nothing less. So long as I could get the bartender interested, I could keep pulling his strings. He had something that I needed, something vital to my mission and regaining what had been lost to me.

"What could you possibly be chasing that would lead you to a place such as the feeding dens?" the bartender asked. "Not even I would dare go to a place like that. You've got a death wish, pal, and I'm not getting in the way of that."

How could I tell him of the monster that I stalked without giving myself away in the process? No men hunted this creature known as the Abaddon, of that we both were well aware. With skin of dark crimson and fiery eyes straight from the pits of Hell, it was a monster not to be taken lightly. Its eight foot tall frame was matched in audacity only by its leathery wings and weight, which measured in the tons.

"Something that's taken everything from me," I replied. "One cut from the same cloth as you, but unlike you, the monster I seek contributes nothing of value, pestilence and destruction are all this monster knows."

The bartender's eyes widened and he turned deathly pale in the blink of an eye. I had struck a nerve. He knew something, and I was going to make sure he told me. I cocked the hammer of my gun and pushed harder on the bartender's bulbous chin.

"Who are you?" the bartender grimaced.

"I'm just a man," I replied as a smile crept across my weary face. "...An average, run-of-the-mill _man_... unlike you."

The bartender made no move to dislodge the gun, instead he seemed to revel in the anarchy that was about to ensue. He shed not one tear, nor prayed to any god, for he knew that no god of his would come to his rescue.

"Now who's the one piling on the bullshit, pal?" inquired the bartender as he slowly reached for a pack of cigarettes. "I don't have a _clue_ who you think you are... and you seem to know an _awful_ lot about me."

"Give me the location of the feeding den and we can talk about that in greater detail," I said.

The bartender reached underneath the counter and fumbled for something. It took everything I had left not to pull the trigger in anticipation of an attack, but I managed to hold my composure, for the reward was worth the risk.

A scroll dropped to the bar, bound tightly with leather, it looked ancient. With my free hand I tugged on the leather binding. He was telling the truth, the map had the locations of all the feeding dens within a thousand miles of here. This information was not readily available to my kind and the demons would be not pleased to learn I had it.

"What would the others say about this?" I asked. "Likely they would have your head or worse. I don't have to remind you of the Charleston culling ten years back, do I?"

"Are _you_ going to tell them?" the bartender questioned. "I think not. Besides, you'll be dead long before then, and I'll scoop it back up from your freshly rotten corpse. You're a dead man, traveler, and you don't even know it."

He barked a sick laugh, spewing spit from his repulsive mouth, "I've noticed that your gun is still pressed to my chin... even after you got the information." the bartender said as he settled back down. "I can't be killed by any normal gun. So you might as well just put it down... before that pretty face of yours gets _real_ ugly, _real_ fast. What is your name?"

"Horace," I replied. "My name's Horace McKidrict and this isn't a normal gun—."

"No... you can't be him! He's dead!" the bartender bellowed, his eyes were ablaze with hellfire. His face began to distort and rows of horns protruded down his back, his skin the color of blood. The only feature he retained was his smile—the same devilish grin that lured many to temptation. He was a demon of ignorance and greed, and his kind was plentiful in this forsaken world of ours. "You can't have it! Give me back that damned scroll! I'll see you in Hell—!"

Dead men can't pull triggers, something the demon figured out the hard way with a blast from point blank range. It exited out the back of his head with thunderous percussion. The demon dropped to the floor, but the man lay in his place. Such was the rule between Heaven and Hell. None shall know of their direct involvement. They were always in the shadows, both demon and angel alike.

I reached over the counter and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. After a long overdue swig, I holstered my weapon, tucked the scroll into my duster and retrieved my coins. After all, he wouldn't need them. I steadied myself; something not easily accomplished after a night drinking and walked out the door. No doubt the locals heard the gunfire and would soon be upon me. I needed distance—and fast.

I was far too drunk. If I was lucky, it'd be awhile before someone stumbles across the body, but if there was one thing in this world that I _wasn't_ , it's a lucky man. But there she was, already saddled and itching for a run, practically calling for someone to rescue her.

"That's a good girl," I said, stroking the majestic creature's mane. "I'm going to call you Betsy. Would ya like that, huh, girl?"

I untied the fiery red mustang from the stable beside the saloon and with but a whisper, the mighty beast took off with me on her, out into the dark town. We were kindred spirits, Betsy and I, or at least my booze soaked mind was leading me to believe. She understood me, and in a world such as this, someone like that doesn't come around too often

She was fast and soon the boundless plains sped by. We were headed for the nearest feeding den and the monster I sought. Maybe there I would find some answers.
**Chapter Two**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Not Like Them

It was a desolate but beautiful land although that beauty seemed to be disappearing at an alarming rate. The intense sun that hung low was hidden today, masked behind dark grey cloud fingers that raked across the sky and converged on the wasteland before me.

The mountain landscape was littered with mines of every design. Gold, silver, nickel, copper—you name it—they extracted it from the ground. The Industrial Revolution, the people called it. It was revolting to me. I couldn't even remember the last time I saw an automobile in the southern states, yet for those that traveled north, to the green states, they'd find a land full of them. There was a growing divide in this country, one getting larger by the day. Those with power and money used it to suppress, successfully, those they viewed as beneath them. And everyone was beneath them.

The same evil still stalked the land as in the old days, only now it had become harder to tell the dark from the light. The monsters cleansed from this realm by those of my order were replaced by men, more devious and veiled than those before.

I rode Betsy along dusty trails over the plains, guided by the scroll towards the last known location of the monster I sought. It was a perilous journey, out of the reach of the common man, to the feeding den perched in the mountains that overlooked the Arizona desert.

The Abaddon I hunted was a nasty creature, born of the hellfire that raged through Hell's final circle. The beast towered above men and its teeth rivaled the size of its claws, serrated and razor-sharp. The monster's broad wingspan allowed it to cast a shadow over its prey—the children of God, driven like lambs to the slaughter, their screams nothing more than a symphony of despair.

It could rip a man to shreds in seconds, a village in minutes and, if left unchecked, eventually the entire world. Very few even knew of its existence and even less could stop it. It was the perfect killing machine, bred to destroy and pillage to its heart content.

I'd been hunting the creature since I first awoke from my two year blackout. I had no idea if it had the knowledge I sought, but it was somehow involved with my amnesia and I needed to press on and seize this opportunity.

It must've been a hundred miles before fatigue got the better of me. I could tell Betsy needed a rest, too, and decided to catch a couple hours sleep. Where I was headed, I'd need all my wits about me because walking through the doors of a feeding den was a good way to cut one's life short.

The dream world was not a friendly place for me; filled with strangers that would do me harm and every life I had taken, and done so for reasons other than survival. It mattered not if those that were slain were not of this world. I never asked for this war, yet I continued with it.

I was awoken by the butt end of a rifle and before I could catch my breath, two attackers had descended upon me. With my gun removed from its holster and unable to shake the men off, I took what they could give for several minutes.

I know when I've been beaten, and this wasn't one of those times. The bandits grew tired of beating a defenseless man, and they let up They wanted my money, not my life.

"Twenty bucks," said one of the men that had been beating me. "We did all this work for twenty goddamn dollars? Yer lucky we don't kill ya, buddy."

The bandit stuffed the cash into his wide chaps and made his way back to his horse. He looked like he wanted to finish me off.

"We'll take 'is gun and horse," the other one said. "That'll double our take."

"I think you mean _my_ take," another bandit still on a horse said. "You two will take what I give ya, and I won't hear another word about it."

Their leader was built like an ox and covered in a whiskery beard that continued down the many folds of his thick neck and chest.

"Yer lucky we don't kill ya, pal," the leader said. "I've killed men for much less than this."

"Yeah," I replied, on my knees with blood running down my brow. "I bet you have."

The other bandits got on their horses; Betsy tied to them, an unwilling participant in their scheme. Without my gun, I would be unable to stop them, or so they thought.

My head was pounding and far removed from rational thinking. I had one thing up my sleeve, however, something the bandits never could've seen coming. They didn't know who I was. They didn't know what I was capable of. .

"It takes a _big_ man to steal a man's horse and gun while he sleeps," I said with a spit in the bandit's direction. "I bet a man like you shows all the women _just_ how big and strong he is."

"Bite yer tongue, you mangy dog!" bellowed the leader, rearing his horse onto its hind legs. "Speak yer filth _one_ more time and I'll see that tongue cut from yer throat."

I had him now. "Yeah, you're probably right. I _should_ bite my tongue..." I needed to tread lightly, antagonize the man too much and I'd likely get a bullet in the brain. I had to play this shrewdly, or I wouldn't be playing for much longer.

"Hold up, boys," said the leader to his men. "I reckon this one's fixin' to learn a _real_ hard lesson."

The man dismounted and stalked towards me. I could see the gleam in his eyes; he enjoyed his work, and command over life and death itself.

"Tell me," he began with a pistol pressed to my forehead. "Was it worth it?"

"Was _what_ worth it?"

"The need to be such a little pecker," the leader said as he cocked the hammer. "I hope it did, because it just cost ya —."

With a fistful of sand to his eyes, I grabbed the pistol from the bandit's hand and used his body as a shield. Luckily, the hired help were terrible shots and their bullets either went whizzing past my head or into my shield.

It took two shots from their leader's pistol to drop the other men to the ground. I let their leader drop, full of holes from the bullets meant for me.

"You'll never...," the leader said with a cough, "you'll never... get away with this."

"That's an interesting notion," I said, kicking at his heels. "I _do_ believe I have already."

The crack of all those shots could be heard far across the plains, echoing off the mountains and back towards us. The bandits lay motionless as I rummaged through their belongings. I wasn't like these thieves, I kept telling myself. They were thoughts that gave me little comfort as I looted their pockets.

A few coppers were all these men had to their names. They shouldn't have to die like this, but the country was filled with it a sea of migrant workers and little in the way of protection. These vultures were all too happy to take what wasn't theirs.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd to stoop to their level," said a voice from behind me. "I shouldn't be surprised at the depths you've sunk, especially after all that's happened to you in the last few years."

I recognized the voice. He was the only immortal that has never tried to kill me, but it was a precarious line I walked with him, he could end me with ease.

"Is there no one better to stalk?" I asked in agitation. "If you've got any useful information to divulge, you'd best spit it out. Or is it your intention to make me mad."

"Always on the defensive," he said mockingly, "afraid to let anyone close, even with a helping hand. I'm not your enemy, Horace, and you'd best watch your tone when in my presence. I don't give second chances."

He stood a foot taller than me with broad shoulders. His tousled blonde hair and porcelain white suit fluttered in the breeze as the sand stirred around our feet. He was a snake-oil salesmen if there ever was one, offering deceit and half-truths in order to serve his heavenly purposes. It wasn't that he was the most powerful being I've ever met that unnerved me, it was that he was impossible to read, an enigma.

"I didn't ask for your help," I said, "but if you're offering assistance, I could hardly refuse, now could I?"

"Not news of your past," the man said. " _That_ information you must discover yourself. I come to offer a glimpse into the future... should you continue on this perilous path you walk."

"I get it," I replied. "I'm supposed to bow down to your sage advice."

"All right, you've made yourself _perfectly_ clear," he said with a tinge of regret in his voice, "I'll leave you to your thoughts, as unpleasant as they may be."

I turned my back on him and he was gone. Perhaps he did have some information that may have prove useful, but what he offered was not done out of the kindness of his heart. No, what he provided would have set me towards a different path— _his_ path, where no man should walk.

I unsaddled their horses and with a pat on the rear I sent them out into the vast plains to find their way. I didn't need them, Betsy was more than enough for my purposes, this way they had a chance.

I packed the few belongings that I had taken from the bandits into Betsy's saddlebag and hoisted myself up. She had been startled by the experience. Her heart was racing so I stroked her mane soothingly and lead us onward.

"Goodbye, my angelic old friend," I said to the wind. "I hope to never see you again, Gabriel."
**Chapter Three**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

One Good Deed

With any luck, the feeding den over the next ridge would be where I finally catch up with my memories, however cruel they may be. I had tracked the Abaddon to this bleak place, and now stood within a hundred paces of the only safe haven its kind was allowed. Unlike the trickster in the saloon, this monster was unable to hide amongst humans.

I lifted myself off the ground and made my way back to Betsy. I tied her to one of the fallen trees that littered the landscape and grabbed a few things from her saddlebag. I stuffed the extra firearms into my waist for good measure.

I'd been up against frightening creatures before, vampires, quasi-demons and countless monsters in between. Yet, I'd never gone up against anything quite like this. The feeding den was nothing more than a dilapidated shack, in the middle of nowhere and hidden to all but the otherworldly creatures that roamed the land. It was _their_ place, where no mortal dare find themselves.

"I've got you now," I muttered under my breath as I hustled towards the boarded up building. "Run or hide... I'll find you demon... to the ends of the earth if I have to."

I pressed against the den's plank siding and readied my weapon. My nerves were on edge, it wasn't the battle that got to me, but the waiting that caused the twitch in my fingers. I was always good under pressure.

I rounded the corner of the building, headed towards the front door with the sole purpose to eliminate everything in my way. Heads would roll, of that I would make certain. It was quiet. I should've never gotten this far without finding some fiend looking to make supper out of me. It was a trap, or at least that's what every fiber of my body was telling me. They were waiting for me, biding their time until I inevitably slipped up.

Not today, I told myself, as I kicked in the front door of the shack, my revolver raised high as I scanned the room for any signs of movement.

"What the...," I gasped as I caught sight of the inside this cesspool. "Even for demons... this just _isn't_ right."

My travels had taken me to several of these dens, yet none looked like this. Usually the ghouls and underlings of the demonic community would serve as caretakers for these places. They would maintain some order here and give the appearance that a man might live here. None dared enter this den, however, at least not while the Abaddon had taken up residence.

Blood was splattered across the walls, so much that it was indistinguishable from paint on the walls in places. Human and some type of animal gore were strewn on the floors and other surfaces, the remains of the carnage that had taken place. It was the definition of a hellhole, and it needed to be wiped from this earth.

I came to the grim realization that the monster I sought was no longer here. Whatever happened in this den was recent and I knew he couldn't be far away. With a little luck I could be on his trail before the sun set.

An unsettling feeling came over me. I wasn't alone. Something was here, right now, watching and judging. "Who's there?" I asked with my gun raised. "I'll only ask this once, after that, I start shooting."

"Elp...," said a hushed voice beneath the floorboards. Whatever was making the noise, it sounded of little threat. Still, I kept my finger on the trigger in case of another hidden danger.

"Help... us...," said the voice again, this time much clearer than before.

It was a man under the floor, perhaps more than one. They were trapped and needed to be freed. No one deserves to be waiting for that moment when a demon would find nourishment in their flesh and blood.

"Stand back!" I shouted and began prying at the planks of wood. "Is there a hatch of some kind?"

"I... don't remember," the voice replied. "Please... you have to hurry."

There had to be some way to get below, because these floorboards just wouldn't come up. Whatever sealed this hatch, it wasn't meant for my eyes to find. I gave up my search and decided my time could be better spent elsewhere.

"There we go," I said, scanning the repulsive interior once more. Weapons came in all shapes and sizes, limited only to the imagination of the user. I'd seen a fork wielded with such skill that it killed a man in a second flat. I'd also seen a man with a broadsword cleave, and cleave some more to kill. Gruesome weapons, I thought, not nearly as clean or effective as a pistol.

Still, for those times when brute force was needed, nothing came close to that of a massive war axe with blood still etched across its edges. I picked up the axe from underneath the front window.

"Stand back!" I shouted as I lifted the axe to my shoulder. It came crashing down and turned wood to splinters under its hefty weight. A few more swings and l I had removed enough of the floor to reveal a small and dark passageway

Like the den above, the walls were painted with blood and gore it couldn't have been in a more revolting place.

I approached an iron door at the end of a small tunnel. It was locked and marked with several demonic signs and hieroglyphs. It was a warning, that death would be swift for those that dare enter unannounced. "Like I haven't been told that before, Demons and their silly curses... they'll never learn."

My axe came crashing down on the lock and the door swung open. It crashed against the cement wall inside. The darkness from the room masked whatever lay on the other side from my sight.

"I'm here to help." Two silhouettes emerged from the blackness and crept towards the door inch by inch. I could hear the sound of metal scraping, a pair shuffling in unison towards what they probably never thought they would ever see again, freedom.

The taller of the two was an old man; sickly looking with a scraggly white beard and covered in rags that barely covered him. He must've been seventy, an age that would've given him the title of respected elder among any of the cities I've ever visited, but here, in this hellish place, he was nothing but a meal. Likely it was his frail stature that allowed him to survive this long. He was undesirable to all, save for those monsters near starvation.

"We're forever in your debt, kind stranger," said the elderly man, "You've saved not only our lives, sir, but our souls, as well. What we owe can never be repaid. Both the boy and I will sing praises of you until we can sing no longer."

"That won't be necessary," I said, raising my hands in surrender, "I was merely doing my duty, you'll be safe now." The boy was no older than ten, but even after the unspeakable atrocities this child had seen, he carried his head high with bright blue eyes that seemed to beam with hope. His hair was matted to his head, dripping of sweat and the blood of his fallen companions. His clothes weren't in much better shape than the old man's.

"Come on," I said to the freed prisoners. "Let's get out of here."
**Chapter Four**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Deserves Another

I struck a match and let the flame linger a moment before it fell from my hand onto the bone dry wooden floor quickly spread into a fiery blaze of the shack. Built by those who would see their disease spread across the land, it was a beacon for the demonic, a place where they would gorge themselves on the helpless victims ensnared by their deceit. Soon, it would be nothing more than a charred reminder of the evils that once stirred there.

I should've enjoyed the sight more than I seemed to; after all, it was my entire reason for being. This wasn't the victory I had in mind. It was the Abaddon I sought, not some geezer and his child sidekick, however worthwhile it may have been at the time. It had fled, no doubt aware of my arrival, and his trail was getting colder with every second I wasted in their company.

This small victory would have to do. "What's your name, old man?" I asked. "What brought you to this place?"

"My name... well, my name is," began the old man, mumbling "I don't rightly remember... it's been so very long."

"How long _has_ it been?"

"I suppose... if I knew that, I'd be able to remember my own name," the old man said, dumbfounded. "I _do_ remember seeing others come and go... the beasts... they... kept the cellar stuffed with victims of all different stock. They fed us... kept us from killing one another in an act of mercy... all to feed the needs of their ungodly kind."

"Where are they?"

"The big one came by a day ago," the old man said with a slight delay, "and tore up everyone except the boy and me... only because the others tried to stop him."

"Who were these others?"

"The dark ones that serve," he continued. "He tore them up sumthin' fierce, as well. Then all of a sudden he was gone... and replaced by the savior we see in front of us."

"I'm no savior."

"Call it what you want, good sir," he said, "but we would've died in that place, of _that_ I'm certain."

"What of the boy?" I asked in attempt to change the subject. "Does he have a name he cannot remember?"

The boy stared back at us, refusing to say a single word. At first, I thought he was hopeful, but I'd come to realize he was in shock, his life thought forfeit just moments ago.

"Now that one I _do_ know," the old man said proudly. "His name's Billy—Billy Godwin, isn't that right, boy?"

Billy nodded in agreement, but remained tightlipped about his encounters with the supernatural. It was a common reaction, one I've seen far too often. He would one day speak of what'd happened to him, but only on his terms, after enough time had passed for the scars to heal.

"What becomes of us now, good sir?" the old man asked. "The boy was taken with a group of others, three nights ago. I remember hearing them speak of their town, due west, not more than two hundred miles away. Perhaps we could go there... see ourselves once more as the proper citizens we once were—."

"I reckon that you're free to do as you wish," I said, looking off to the horizon. "As for myself, I'm going to resume my hunt... and the two of you can go back to the lives that were taken from you... if they still exist. I've got a demon to kill... and I doubt either of you'd much like to join me."

"Y-you...," the old man stuttered. "You're not escorting us to the nearest village?"

"No."

"That's not right... you _can't_ do this," he pleaded. "How can you do this?"

"I do it because I can... believe me, old man, it is better this way."

"Have you no heart?" he asked, grabbing onto my sleeve. "I... I know _who_ you are! I know _what_ you are!"

"You know nothing of what you speak."

"I may be a bumbling geezer that can't even remember his own name," he said, "but I do remember some of the old ways. I've heard the name... we all have. The lone warriors that protect men from the darkness... the ones who fight for those that cannot—.

A coughing fit overtook him and he dropped to his knees in spasms. My heart went out to the old man, but I had a mission to complete, and these two would only be a hindrance in the scheme of things. For as much as I wanted to help them, they would have to fend for themselves.

The old man was sick, there was no denying that. The real question though, was, could he survive without the dark ones caustic care anymore.

"Get your hands off me!" he shouted, shoving me away "My family tree harkens back to the day of the great cataclysm... it's a story that's been passed down through the generations... from _my_ pappy's pappy and _his_ pappy's pappy... "

"I get it." I groaned.

"I remember what happened!" the old man said with his fingers drilled into his temples. "I remember the oath your people took. You're a disgrace to their legacy!"

"Now we're getting somewhere. We agree on something..."

"He's a joker, too!" the old man scowled. "I've never met a reaper before... and now I'm glad you're the first. I don't think my dried up heart can take another blow like this."

"Do you know why we're called reapers?" I asked with fists clenched. "It's because nothing but death follows us. You think I'm some kind of savoir? Well, a day under my protection will change your perception of that one. Everyone that's spent any time with me has come to regret that decision... and I don't see that changing anytime soon. So, yes, old man, you _should_ be glad that I'm the first reaper you've ever met. Let us hope I'm your last, as well."

I turned from my unlikely companions and began to walk back towards the ridge where Betsy was tied and waiting desperately for my arrival. An evil aura drenched this land and Betsy looked around nervously, as if she could feel it rising from the ground.

I didn't look back. I couldn't look back. I was on the verge of breaking down and granting them safe passage through the valley, but it would've lost me the Abaddon's trail, my whole reason for being out here in the first place. I felt for the old man and his young friend, but there wasn't anything I could do to help them.

I could hear the old man wheezing and panting on his way over. He staggered and he almost fell over several times before he caught up with me. He dropped to his knees and clawed at my duster, begging and pleading for me to have a change of heart.

"Don't do it for me, reaper," the old man began. "God knows I wouldn't want to be indebted to you anymore, do it for the boy, who'll surely die out here without your protection."

"I'm listening," I said with regret. "Say what you _really_ mean."

"I can feel death's embrace," he admitted. "Its hands around my neck, it won't be long now, reaper, and I'll leave this boy alone in the world... _you'll_ leave this boy alone in the world."

I wanted to hit the old man, to knock some sense into his feeble mind but he was right. I couldn't leave a young boy to face certain death alone.

"Fine," I relented. "Go get the kid... you two can ride the horse."

"Thank you, sir," the old man said. "You've saved this boy's life."

"And be quick about it. We've got a long road ahead of us."

* * * * * *

We had been traveling for most of the day and the sun was about to set behind the ridge carved into the distant mountains. The shadows danced along the landscape smothering us in its deathly veil. It wasn't a good place to be, isolated and alone in the wild, where the unsightly creatures crawled from their caves and stalked the plains of the living.

The fire burned brightly, a deterrent to the scavengers only served as a beacon to those that preyed on the living. I needed to be careful here, and while Billy Godwin and his old friend lay by the fire, my eyes were open and scanning for shadows that shouldn't move. Out here, everyone was suspect; even this pair that lay before me.

"Don't you _ever_ sleep?" the old man asked, breathing raggedly. "You've been looking around for hours now."

"You've been awake the whole time?"

"I'm near death, how much sleep do you think I'm really going to get?"

"True enough," I said, stoking the fire. "What can you tell me about this town we're headed to?" I don't like heading blind into a new place.

"You fight demons for a living and you're scared of some townsfolk, that's rich," he wheezed a laugh."

"I like a man that can laugh in the face of death."

"We're headed to a place called... it's called... hold on, I'll get it. Oh, yes there it is... it's called Jamestown! The boy was picked up on the outskirts of Jamestown."

"Jamestown?"

"No, no, that's not quite right," he said with a finger pressed to his lip.

"Jonestown?"

"No... no, it's not that either," he continued, "I _know_ I had it...."

"Janestown?"

"That's it!" the old man clapped his hands. "The town's called Janestown."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "I remember it as clear as day... at least, I _think_ I do."

I looked over at the young lad, curled into the saddle blanket for warmth. He hadn't said a word since being rescued from the feeding den, and while I'd thought the distance would do him some good, it only seemed to further distress the boy. He pawed repeatedly at his matted hair, likely from the traumatic events he's had to endure, running though his subconscious at a mile a minute. He was young, far too young to have witnessed the things he's seen. Then again, so was I at his age.

"What was the child doing on the outskirts of the town?" I asked. "Does he have a home there?"

"Beats me," the old man grumbled. "And I doubt you'll get much more outta him, either. He's a good lad, but not much in the way of lively discussion. No sir, not like yours truly."

"What of the others he was picked up with?"

"Them?" he asked with astonished eyes. "Oh... yes, them! They were a much more talkative bunch, but mostly about survival."

"They mentioned nothing of how they were captured, or what they were doing on the outskirts of town?" I asked.

"Well, let me see, now," he mused. "I... I believe that one of the men was grumbling about something... ghouls! Or was that tools?"

I was getting nowhere fast, and this geezer had long since passed his expiration date. "Get some sleep, old man," I said, pulling my Stetson over my eyes. "You should really get to sleep."

I didn't care if some fiend crept upon us; this old fool was driving me mad. Perhaps he would be dead in the morning.

A sudden breath of wind soothed my soul after a long day's journey. It wasn't often that I was able to relax and get a good night's sleep. Who knew, maybe tonight was going to be that one in a million.

" _Get some sleep, Horace_ ," said a voice in the wind. " _You should really get to sleep_."
**Chapter Five**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Nightmares

My heart was pounding, matched in ferocity by that of my head, which was filled with mind numbing hallucinations. I couldn't make sense of where I was, how I got there, or where I had been before. My clothes were ripped to shreds and my body marked with strange symbols and lacerations. All I knew for sure was that something was chasing me, something best left to imagination and nightmares.

I had traveled through a forest as best as my muddled mind allowed, tumbled over a fallen tree and slid face first down a muddy hill. Yet, whatever path I chose to take, the monster trailed close behind. I could hear the monster in my mind, shrieking at me and urging me onward. It was as if the monster was sharing my thoughts, my fears. I could feel the creature enjoying the chase, almost as much as the inevitable conclusion.

Its claws shredded the ground behind me as it snarled. It was goading me, pushing me in a direction of its pleasing before finally bringing me to my end. I wasn't sure of the game the beast was trying to play, but I knew that I wouldn't want to stick around and find out.

I wasn't sure if it was drugs or if my sanity had finally shattered. I suddenly emerged from the forest and into a meadow that overlooked a small village, nothing more than a backwater shanty town. I didn't want to bring my problems to their doorstep, but I had little choice in the matter and continued towards the bright fires in front of me.

I wasn't of sound mind, but I could've sworn the beast that hunted me was becoming more distant with each passing step as I passed into the village square. It was a good thing, too, because it was at that moment my legs gave out on me and I crashed to the ground my senses dulled.

"Hey there pal, what ya doing on the ground?" a man asked, standing over me and prodding me with some type of stick. "Ya; ya don' look so good, do ya?"

He rolled me over, gave me the once over and helped ease me up. I didn't know who the man was, but by the looks of him, he was nothing more than a simple villager; a yokel with no thoughts towards the divine, or the demonic.

"We got to get ya to the doctor," he grumbled. "Don' worry... we'll get ya fixed up _real_ good—."

The villager screamed in horror and dropped me to the ground in a hurry at the sight of the fiend that hunted me. There was nothing that could've prepared him for this moment or what saving my life entailed. The beast let out a deafening shriek as bile and blood spewed forth.

"I-I don't know what the hell ya are," the villager said with wavering conviction, "but around these parts, we dun leave one o' our kind alone. Dun matter what kind o' beast it is that hunts 'im—."

The man's defiant and barely understandable speech was cut short and he was thrown to the ground by the monster's ungodly strength. I could barely see the beast from my prone and motionless body bleeding all over the cobblestones. It was just a looming shadow that would get to me any moment now. For the villager, however, it was almost over.

I could hear the sound of teeth ripping into flesh and bone. He was being torn asunder, until there was nothing left except a pool of blood and gore.

The beast's shadow crept into my vision and threatened to end my life. Thunder crashed inside my head and it was getting darker and darker. I was ready to give up, relinquish my sworn oath and surrender to the inevitable.

Good thing _they_ weren't so eager to accept defeat.

"Get away from 'im, ya fiend!" another villager shouted. He was rebellious and filled with boldness. There were dozens of them, they carried a wide range of crude weapons, but they stood strong together.

"One o' ya against a hundred o' us!" a woman screamed, raising a pitchfork high above her head. "Go back to Hell and tell yer maker that there's no place for 'im here!"

The mob charged straight towards the beast with little regard for their own safety. I could see only a small fraction of the battle from my position, in the middle of the square, but even that small sample of the carnage was more than I wanted to witness. Bodies were tossed aside one by one, some dead upon impact, and the others left to bleed out on the ground.

The demon let out a tormented scream and flew off into the sky. I could hear its massive wings flap and see its shadow diminish as it took off into the night. The villagers had won, but at what cost?

My eyes were getting very heavy. So heavy that I soon gave in and allowed myself the peace oblivion brings

* * * * * *

Every fiber of my body ached in pain. I could barely see through the fabric wrapped around my head, but I appeared to be in a log cabin. I remembered the slaughter that brought me here, I may not have been the one to send the dead to the afterlife, but I had played my role in their suffering. Because of me, many men and women didn't tuck their children into bed that night.

"Good t' see ya awake, partner," a man said from across the room. "Ya gave us all a nasty scare last night."

"Ugh...," I groaned, using a hand to shield my eyes from the painful light in the room. "W-where am I?"

"Grimsby. T'is a small, remote village on the Louisiana border," the man replied, stepping into the light. "You're 'n Texas, if there was any doubt about that."

I could see from the man's clothes that he was a doctor, but it certainly wasn't a hospice and he was the textbook definition of a country bumpkin. He saved my life though, and in my books that was more than enough—though I might not be too keen with him taking a blade to me.

I looked around in search of something familiar that might allow me to remember the course of events that brought me to this village. There was nothing, much like my memories, I was without a single piece of my recent past. There was, however, one item on the dresser of my prior life. It was a cowboy hat, charcoal in color and exactly like the one my father wore. It was a pleasant memory, of which I had very few.

"Yer eyes ain't deceiving ya, partner," the doctor said. "This ain't no hospital... and I'm barely a doctor. Fear not, though, yer wounds were well within what's been passed down ta me from my pa. Yer healing, I'll say that much, at least... unless you go tearing up 'em stitches like a raving fool."

"I-I... you're right, of course," I said, laying my head down upon the bed. "I'm not deserving of your kindness."

"Ah, don't go quittin' on me like that," the doctor scolded. "Yer gonna need to fight if you wanna live, besides, you're one of us."

"...One of us?"

"The good ones," he said. "Us human's gotta stick together, ya know."

"You're aware of creatures of the night?"

"I'm sure big city folk don't rightly talk much 'bout it, but it doesn't take, whatcha call it, book smarts, to know there's something more ta life than what we're told."

"They died... to protect me... a stranger."

"Yer damn right they did," he said, "and their sacrifice will be in vain unless ya man up and fight for yer damned life!"

The doctor shoved a concoction of herbs in my face and told me to drink up. I didn't know what was in it, but after all they'd done, I couldn't exactly refuse. If they had wanted me dead, they could've gone about in; less messy ways that didn't involve dozens of them being torn apart by that frightful beast.

"Do ya know what yer name is?" the doctor asked.

"Horace McKidrict."

"That's good," he said. "Any idea what brought you here? Other than that monster nippin' at yer heels, I mean. It ain't like we're on the map, or anything."

"I don't know."

"I'm getting the feeling that answers going to repeat itself more than a few times durin' this con- _ver_ -sa-tion, partner," he said with a chortle, "All right, at least tell me the day."

"I... I haven't a clue. Tuesday, does that sound about right?"

"No, it's not Tuesday," he replied, "though yer only four days off."

He might not have been the best doctor, but he was humorous, and right now that's exactly what I needed; .I felt the sharp pain and slow burn of a ruptured lung but it felt good to laugh and escape the despair that had plagued me for far too long now.

"The year's 2014," the doctor said, "the month of October, to be exact—."

"No, it can't be!" I cried, rising in bed despite the agony. "That's just not possible. Two years... two goddamn years of my life... gone completely from my mind."

"You've got a nasty case of amnesia there, partner...," he said unenthusiastically. "Two years is a long time ta not remember."

"That's not possible," I said my thoughts going to the beast that stalked me. I didn't have a clue what the demon wanted, but I sure as hell wasn't going to stay around here and wait for the rest of the village to be sacrificed in my name.

"What _isn't_ possible is ya getting' more than a mile before ya collapse to the ground. Like it or not, partner, yer gonna be here for awhile."

I fell back in bed, head pounding and groaned in agony. The doctor was right. I wouldn't be going anywhere for awhile. I was in his care now.

I would find the demon. It wanted me; it was going to get me, hopefully at full strength and armed with decades of experience and training. The doctor may have been keeping me alive, but that single thought was the only thing keeping me sane. I would have my vengeance. I would have _theirs_ , too.

"So tell me," the doctor began as he rubbed some alcohol on my exposed cuts. "Do ya have any idea what that demon was? I reckon yer the only feller who might rightly know."

"It's called an Abaddon."

"A what?" he asked with eyes wide. "I should've specified English partner."

"I don't know what language it was named in," I said with gritted teeth, "but I doubt it's a tongue still spoken."

"Why is it here?" he asked as he drew a sampling of my blood with some skill, what does it want?"

"It wants me... for reasons that elude me."

"Oh!" the doctor hustled over to the dresser. "This was lying there beside ya... I picked it up and wanted ta give it ta ya."

"I didn't have anything with me," I said. "It must belong to another."

"No, no, it could only have belonged ta one such as yourself," he said. "The woman in it is _far_ too pretty ta have lived here."

The doctor handed a worn out photograph to me. He was right, the woman was much too beautiful to have been born in this backwater, but she was also much too beautiful for one such as me. Whatever the connection was, it cut through me like a dagger, one I would feel for many years to come.

"I... I don't know who this is," I faltered with my finger lingering on the woman's image. "I've never seen her before in my life... and the girl... she's much older than two."

"Aye, that she is," he said in agreement. "Perhaps more than just a few years have been lost ta ya."

"Perhaps." I echoed.

I placed the photograph as far away as I possibly could and rolled on my side. The pain was almost unbearable, but I would do just about anything to keep those faces from my mind. Whoever she was, no doubt the monster would have the answers I sought. Right now it only left another wound in my heart.

"Aye, well I'm sure it'll come ta ya soon enough," the doctor said. "Just give it some time."

I tried to block the images of the woman and young girl from my mind, but the harder I tried the more it pained me. The only thing that seemed to still my thoughts was of the Stetson on the dresser, something about its presence was oddly comforting and I found myself thinking of the life my father had lived.

He was a good man, strong and resolute with a sense of humor that could flush the worry from my head. He was sort of like this mysterious hillbilly doctor in that regard.

The last time I saw my father, I was being taken away for training at the age of ten. I was far too young to be separated from my parents, but he told me that everything would be okay. A place for everything and everything in its place, he told me, as if that would've made any sense to a child whom only wanted to see his friends and family. It was God's work, the people that took me called it.

**Chapter Six**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Setback

The sound of thunder woke me and I found myself shaking from the memories that still haunted me. It was six months ago that I laid on that bed in Grimsby, but as I traced over the many scars inflicted upon me that night, I realized that some pains would never cease.

The sky was painted in dark clouds, rain would soon fall and we'd be ankle deep in mud, unless we carried on towards the town doubtfully named Janestown. I had only the old man's assurance that we were headed in the right direction but Billy's reaction had me wondering if we were headed in the right way, or into a trap he knew about. And if the boy did, in fact, know of a trap, I wasn't likely to get a word out of him.

Billy was too young to make sense of the violence he'd seen, but going mute was a new experience for me, and I wasn't sure what to make of it. Unlike the old man, who seemed to get on my nerves, the boy was a survivor where many other men had died around him, and yet he was still just that scared little boy that clutched on tightly to whatever he could for comfort. In this case it was the saddle blanket that kept him safe and secure.

"Hey, old man," I whispered, prodding him with a stick he'd picked up earlier to walk with, "are you awake?"

No response for the old timer. "You'd better get up. I reckon the rain's 'bout to drown us. We should get packed up before that happens."

Still nothing, "get up or I'll be leaving you behind" I said, as I grabbed hold of his shoulder. The old man rolled over without resistance, his eyes a milky white. He was dead, and likely had been for several hours.

"Goddamn," I muttered under my breath. I'd asked for it, hell, I wanted nothing more than to be rid of the old man's relentless stammering. Yet, I had a lump in the back of my throat that wouldn't go away—a reminder of the horrible thoughts I wished upon the old man. It wasn't the first thing I've come to regret in my line of work.

There it was, the first few drops but it would get a lot worse. There was a belief among the people of the land that the rain was the plight of angels, their cries drowning the ground below in sorrow.

I had a different theory. The rain was just a warning, a precursor of things to come. The angels weren't weeping for their children, no; they were too busy worrying about themselves. When the great cataclysm happened, Heaven was just as shocked as the rest of us. The endless war had begun. Some called it Armageddon, and others simply refused to acknowledge its existence, sticking their heads in the sand and praying that what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them

That's what the angels did, too, and I've been reminded often how well that turned out. The war was on our front doorstep and Heaven didn't give a damn about us. To them, we're all just causalities of war.

The downpour came and with it the reality I was trying desperately to avoid. Things were going to get a lot worse before they got better. I knew it and I'm pretty sure the old man knew it, as well.

There wasn't time to bury him and the downpour put an end to any thoughts of cremation. I had to leave him; he'd be food for the creatures of the night, the ones that hunted without remorse or prejudice. At least he died a free man. Perhaps that was enough for him and he finally allowed himself to succumb to death's embrace.

I had everything packed within minutes and Billy awake after being deprived of his comforting blanket. The boy wrinkled up his face and extended his arms toward me when I told him about the old man. His lip was quivering and the tears started shortly after. I lifted him onto Betsy, I made a promise to that old man, and I'd see it through to the end.

Billy tugged on my duster, his hands slipping on the oil slicked coating to get my attention, still refusing to speak a word. I didn't need to hear what the boy had to say to understand, I was thinking the same damn thing.

"Don't look back, boy," I said, pulling on Betsy's reins. "He's in a better place now... and I reckon he'd be happy to see us on our way."

* * * * * *

After a seemingly never ending night of listening to the old man drone on and on, I figured it'd be nice to finally get some peace and quiet. That's what I thought, at least, but the reality was far more solemn

I could tell Billy wanted to speak, tell his story, but there was something wrong with the kid; something that stilled his tongue and chilled him to the bone.

It was an awkward silence over many hours when we made our way to the edge of a ridge that overlooked the small settlement. One long road divided the town; it wasn't much, but in this day and age better than most.

"Well I'll be damned," I said with a grin. "Old man, looks like you were right."

There was a sign for all to see, a billboard that read, "Welcome to Janestown, where all your sins are forgotten."

"Clearly," I said with a snort. "Well, we did it, boy... and not a moment too soon."

Betsy trotted down the steep path towards Janestown with me on the saddle and Billy clinging on tightly behind. After all this time, I would've figured the boy's grip to lessen, but tighter and tighter it became with every step.

"Don't take it personally, boy," I said. "You're great company, but I reckon I'm going to need a drink after all this."

No more than fifty buildings made up the town, one of the outlying towns waiting for some railroad tracks to be laid that were ever going to come. Still, I could find a cold beer and warm bed, the two things I truly needed.

It wasn't much, but half the townspeople must've been out and about, fixing up the buildings and giving everything a new coat of paint. They seemed proud of what they had, what they didn't seem to feel pride in however, was the church at the end of the street. It was boarded up so that not a single beam of light would pierce its barricade and into its inner sanctum.

"Perhaps they caught the preacher buggering the kids," I said to myself. "Not that I couldn't think of a million reasons to turn from the teachings of God."

Still, why not burn it down and use the land for something new? A town could always use another bar. I continued through the middle of the town until we reached the stables beside the tavern and dismounted to greet the man sitting in front of the place.

"Evening," I said with a tip of the hat. "How much will it be for the night?"

"Five bucks for the horse," he said as he rose. "Twenty will get ya both a place to sleep and a meal when ya wake."

"Here's thirty for the horse and me, the kids not staying." I replied.

"Sir, yer much too kind," he said. "I'm gonna treat yer horse to a double helping of oats. Just you see, she'll be up and running with the wind in no time flat."

"Good. The extra's to keep Betsy ready at all times, no matter the time of night."

"I hear ya loud and clear, mister," he said with a smirk. "Never know when yer gonna need to slip away, is ya. "She's a purdy mustang," he continued. "I'll make sure she's ready at the drop of a hat... hopefully not yers."

I bid him good night and walked off with Billy beside me. How the bloody hell was I supposed to find this kid's home when he couldn't even tell me his own name? As much as I didn't want to say it, I just wanted to be rid of him and wash my sorrows away with a bottle of vodka and beer chasers.

I had lost the demon's trail. In all the time I'd chased the monster, I'd never been as close as I was a few days ago. I came within a hair's breadth of it; all to have it slip between my fingers. Somewhere out there, the beast was laughing at me, taunting me while I coddled this kid.

"Where's your house?" I asked, turning to Billy and kneeling down to look him in the eyes. "I'm really going to need you to show me the way, boy."

I got no response from the boy, now deathly pale and quivering in his boots. I don't know if he ran away from home, or was taken against his will. Frankly, it wasn't any of my concern. I promised to see the boy home and not a single thing more.

"What house boy? Where do you live? I'm not kidding around here Billy."

"Where do you live damn it?" I bellowed with my hand raised in anger. "You're going to tell me whether you want to or not."

I paused for a moment, caught in a flashback of my life as a child. My father was a good man and never once raised a hand to me in anger, yet here I was, ready to do so to a kid who wouldn't or couldn't talk. I didn't want to be that man. I couldn't be that man. I lowered my hand, but as mine descended, Billy's pointed towards one of the homes behind me.

"Thank you, Billy," I said, stroking his matted hair. "I promise that I'll never threaten you again."

I took him by the hand and led him home. It was a decent enough looking place, bright white but without a hint of charm. It was basic, simple and safe, the kind of place where a kid wouldn't have any fun, but one where he'd grow up right and proper.

Billy stiffened up and squeezed my hand tightly as I knocked on the door and awaited someone's arrival. I could hear somebody fumbling around inside, coming towards me.

"Good morning," said a man as the front door opened for us. "How may I help you, sir?"

He was a regular enough sort of guy, middle aged with buzzed black hair that contrasted with his white clothing, soiled with god knows what on it, and the stink of manure about him. Still, there was nothing unnatural about his appearance; but then again, there was nothing too interesting about him, either.

"Uh...," I stumbled with the words and looked down towards Billy, "I've got your kid here?"

"The boy?" the man asked in bewilderment. "Oh, the boy there... quite right, I'll take him off your hands."

"Don't you want to know where he's been?" I asked. "He's been gone for god knows how long."

"It all worked out in the end," he said with a blank look. "You've my thanks for bringing him back stranger."

"It's Horace."

"Yes, I'm sure it is," he replied. "You have a good day now."

I tried to pass the boy along to his father, but he was strong for a kid his age, surprisingly so, and wasn't letting go.

"Please," said Billy, speaking for the first time since his capture. "Please don't l-leave me."

"I've got people that are depending on me," I said, kneeling down to speak to Billy on his level, "much like a father needs his son. You have a good life, Billy Godwin. You were a real hero back there... never forget that, cowboy."

And just like that I left the boy, in the company of his father, yet alone in the world. It wasn't my problem, though, not anymore. We all had to make sacrifices, and this was no more tragic than any other—especially those that called themselves reapers.
**Chapter Seven**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Strangers All

I swung open the shutter doors to the Rusty Nail tavern. It was crammed with people and the aromas of manure and sweat. This was a working man's saloon. It looked as if the other half of the village had been in the fields. I couldn't tell one of them from the other, save the differences between the men and the women, they were all dressed head to toe in the most basic white attire. Not a single face turned to greet me with their eyes, and yet not a single person turned to look away.

"Now that's a pleasant surprise," I grumbled. "It's mighty nice to meet you, too."

Usually, a crowd would take one hard look at a gunslinger like me and turn away, and the few that didn't were likely looking for trouble. This lot was something else entirely, completely willing to go about their business and let me do the same.

I looked around at the townsfolk, glued to their meals and not a single person made an attempt at conversation. The entire room, packed to the brim, was as hushed as a rundown library.

Like all these remote settlements that time forgot, Janestown was stuck in the 1800's and not expected to come out of it anytime soon. It was far removed from the reach of modern advancements and higher education. Strangely, I'd always felt more comfortable around these parts, walking among these people and partaking in their customs. This was not one of those times, however, and I felt a shiver trickle down my spine.

I searched around the corners of the room looking for a place to sit and was immediately drawn to a single piece of modern technology in the corner.

"Holographic dancing girls," I said with an agreeable grunt. "Well, now I reckon I've seen every damn thing."

The girls, slightly translucent and flickering, were nothing but a projection of light and sound, but you'd never get a complaint from the men huddled around, slipping dollars into the slot for another minute of cheap thrills, but then I'd presume a town like this doesn't offer much in the way of entertainment.

"Kick up a seat an' stay awhile," the bartender announced.

"I love it," I said, taking a stool at the bar. "There's not an automobile in a hundred square miles, but you've got holographic ladies shaking their stuff, and an enormous electric bill."

"Aye, they're lovely ladies, aren't they?" he said, grinning wildly. "I picked them up on my last trip back home to Houston. Their made in Dodge City... so you know they've been made by true-blue Americans."

The bartender was a rough looking son of a bitch with a disfiguring scar running from his left cheek down his neck and god knows where else. He was bald as a coot, face full of wrinkles and the stink of rum on his breath. Finally, this was a man I could talk to.

"Yeah, I bet. You're from Houston, then?" I said, pointing to the bottle of Jack Daniels on the wall. "It's nice to meet a fellow Texan."

"That so?" the bartender asked as he poured me a shot. "Where are you from, pal?"

"Austin... though I haven't been home in a very long time."

"That's a shame," he said. "It's a beautiful city. You should be real proud of the folks back home."

"That I am," I said, pounding the shot back and savoring the slow burn, "Real good people there, lots of good memories."

"So what brings you to town?" the bartender asked as he promptly poured me another. "It can't be for the lively entertainment. These are good people, but I can't say they're good company."

"Yeah, what's with the clothes?"

"You mean the white, holier than thou attire" he replied, "nothing a traveler like you need concern yourself with, they are devout people, is all."

"How's that explain the church?" I asked, finishing off the next shot and motioning for another. "It looks like it hasn't been used in years."

"That it hasn't," he said with a look of shame. "The town's full of sin and we're all degenerates, apparently. We're not fit to appreciate it or some garbage like that."

"Is that so?"

"Don't ask me how a preacher's mind works," he said. "They're on a different realm than the rest of us... and it's not always a holy place, no matter what they claim."

"Well, not like it matters or anything, but this traveler's opinion couldn't be further from the preacher's—."

"Yeh stole me goddamn turn, yeh half wit!" shouted a red-headed man over by the holo-dancers. "I swear, yer brain cavity wouldn't make a drinkin' cup for a canary."

"Oh, is that so?" another man asked with a shove. "Ya better sit down, pipsqueak."

They couldn't have been more dissimilar; one a scrappy little Irishman with red hair, and the other was a mountain of meat, an enormous seven footer with golden locks and a bad temper. The only thing they had in common was the whisky in their gut. I knew where this was going, and by the looks of the bartender who was removing all the glasses from the countertop, he knew what was going to happen, as well.

"Look at this, boys," said the giant as he knocked the cap off the Irishman. "He's uglier than—."

That's all it took for the Irishman, who threw a right hook to the other's jaw.

"Ah shit," the bartender said as we watched the carnage unfold. "Someone's always gotta crap in the pool."

I probably should have stopped them, but I wasn't going to do that. This looked like the only entertainment in town. A man bares his soul in the heat of a fight, and you can see what hidden evil lurks in them.

"Yeah, I'm going to need another shot," I said, waving my hand to the bar behind me, "and make it a double."

The two drunks rolled around on the floor, punching and kicking their way from table to table. It wasn't much of a fight, mostly insults and glancing blows.

"Who's this?" I asked, noticing a group at the saloon's door. "It looks like the bully patrol is here to make the joint safer... and less interesting."

I could see the Sheriff's bronzed star and matching uniforms which made them stick out like a sore thumb in a sea of white. They never were any good for a laugh, too caught up with the crooked laws they were meant to impose.

The Sheriff of Janestown was a scruffy looking man, head cocked sideways and chewing some dip. His kind weren't too fond of us gunslingers, regardless of our cause. They only wanted to see us run out of town—us _and_ the problems that brought us there.

"All right, that's quite enough!" the Sheriff bellowed as he pushed his way through the saloon, "control yourselves or I'll get my boys to do it for you."

The barfly's made no attempt to cease their brawl until the Sheriff ordered them clubbed black and blue. No one liked to see a man beat down by a group of thugs, except men like the good Sheriff, who only seemed to smile at the sight of another's plight. It was a sick kind of man that took enjoyment from that, but I was in no position to remind him of that.

"Jaysus, please!" the Irishman screamed out in agony. "We didn't realize what we were doin'!"

"Forgive us, Sheriff Madsen," the other man cried. "We didn't mean to upset the order of things!"

"Well la dee da," the Sheriff mocked. "You're sorry... yeah, right. You're only sorry you got caught, but I tell ya, you're going to be real sorry, soon enough."

He ordered the drunks dragged out of the bar. They kicked and screamed like school girls, anything to keep from going through the door.

"Well I'll be damned," I whispered to the bartender. "I've never seen two men so afraid to spend the night in the drunk tank."

"You've never seen a drunk tank like this one, I reckon," he replied. "Like I said... we're nothing but sinners, the whole lot of us."

"This is the second incident this month, barkeep," the Sheriff stated as he looked down his oversized aviator glasses at the man. "One more time and I'll have this establishment shut down."

"You've got my apologies," the bartender answered. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Sheriff Madsen said. "I won't be nearly as tolerant next time."

The Sheriff kicked over a stool on his way out and gave one look back to show his seriousness. Like any one of these folks would stand up to him. This wasn't my battle; I repeated over and over again in my head. There's nothing I could do for them. I had much bigger problems than some puissant Sheriff.

"That's your _second_ incident this month?" I asked. "Dear lord, man, that's a slow day even in the tightest knit communities and backwater shitholes."

"Tell me about it," he said. "Sheriff Madsen's a real stick in my craw, but there ain't a damn thing I can do about it."

"I feel for you," I said, sliding my glass towards the edge of the counter.

He poured another shot and pulled out another glass and filled that one too. It was as if he was a mind reader, or that I was just another lush in his bar. Whatever it was, I liked the man and guzzled the shots.

" _Get to sleep, Horace_ ," said a familiar voice swirling around in my subconscious. " _You should really get to sleep_."

I suddenly became aware of the fact that I'd been traveling nonstop for over six months now and I hadn't gotten one good night's sleep in all that time. Not that a good night's sleep would be possible with a gut full of Jack, but a bed was better than I was used to.

"The kid in the stables said to come to you for my room key."

"Yup," the bartender replied as he reached underneath the counter and pulled out a key. "It's upstairs, third door on your left."

"Thanks," I said, slowly rising to my feet. "I hope it's a _big_ meal tomorrow. Lord knows I'm going to need the energy."

I was teetering on the brink of collapse, but I didn't get more than five feet before the bartender hollered for my return.

"I think you forgot something, pal," said the bartender as he wiped down the counter. "That'll be ten bucks for the drinks."

"Put it on my tab."

"No can do," he stated. "Ain't a tab in the Rusty Nail."

"All right," I stammered. "This outta cover it."

I tossed the bartender a bill, whatever was in my pocket and by the gleam in his eye, it was probably a twenty. I was ready to pass out here and now, third door on the left he had said, so that's where I headed.
**Chapter Eight**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Invitation Not Refused

Austin was a safe place full of good memories. There wasn't another place in the world like it, I thought, but at the age of ten I hadn't exactly been many other places. I lived there with my mother and father, not a care in the world and living in the moment. Maybe that was the problem, cause when fate came knocking we were caught completely unprepared.

We lived on a farm, a few miles from the city, just on the outskirts. It was a small place where we grew fields of the most delicious corn you ever had. The house was a long running bungalow with dark cherry painting and matching bay windows. Fields of grass swayed in the wind and hinted at the adventures over each hillcrest. At the edge of our property a white fence ran down to a rickety old barn where we housed all the equipment.

My father was a decent man, hardworking and honest. He always treated my mother well and never once laid a hand on me, and around these parts that was pretty uncommon. I'd see kids at school black and blue from the beatings they'd receive from their dads. He didn't have much time for me, but we enjoyed the times we did have together.

My pa employed half dozen farm hands, working the land and fixing the machinery who kept the farm going during the tough times. Dad said that was all that mattered.

"Ya always gotta keep truckin'," he would tell me. "Even when things look like they can't get any worse, ya gotta make do with what ya got in front of ya."

He was kind to the colored folk; he always hired a couple of them. Good people, given a hard time cause the color of their skin. Sure they were free, but even the most basic necessities were barely afforded to them.

One of the men's kids was my best friend and we hung out just about every chance we could. His name was Isum Bailey, a heavyset boy with wooly hair and a smart mouth.

We were hanging out just like any other day in the barn when fate came calling. It was quarter past noon and we could hear my dad arguing with my mom in the yard, something real fierce, too, with hollering and hands waving all over the place. He never lost his cool like this, and both Isum and I rushed to get as close as possible.

"Quit yer shoving'," Isum whispered as he pressed up against the inside wall of the barn. "I can barely breathe."

My father, Malcolm McKidrict, was a strong man, lived his life on the farm and never made excuses when hard work needed to be done. The stress took its toll on him, however, and in his late thirties his hair was going grey. Sure, it was still thick and down to his shoulders, and a constant source of amusement for my mother and me. It wasn't his looks that my mother loved in him, it was his mind. He was as wise as the day is long and a gentle soul to all those around.

And my mother, warm and loving, sharp as a whip and hip to all my boyhood schemes. She was a pretty Scottish lass, my father would always say, Edna McKidrict, maiden name Ritchie. My mother was the rock on which our home was built, always making sure things were running and my chores had been completed. It was hard work for a kid my size, but she'd always reward me with freshly made pie and suddenly the work had been worth it.

"I don't give a damn what any holy man says!" my father shouted. "He's my boy and I'm fit to raise him as I bloody well like!"

"It's _the order_ , Mal," my mother said. "Yeh wanna take 'em all on, is that it?"

"It's not like that," he said. "I... I _knew_ that priest takin' all that interest in him wasn't a good idea."

"I don't like this, not one bit," my father continued. "My boy's gonna grow up workin' the farm, just like his daddy; an' if he doesn't wanna do that, then he'll be some fancy doctor or lawyer. What he _won't_ be is some goddamn weapon of mass destruction! I've read what they do to those boys... it's not right, Edna! It's a monstrosity, unnatural and perverse... I won't have it for my boy... not _my_ boy!"

"Maybe we can buy 'im off," she replied. "I don't care if we have ta sell off half the farm ta do it. If they take my baby I expect my heart ta burst."

"That won't be necessary," he hollered, "Willie; I need to talk to ya!"

Isum's pa was a loyal guy, been around for longer than I had. He opened the barn door and poked his head in to get a look. I had to pull Isum back to keep him for seeing us, but he didn't mutter a word if he had.

"Don't do this," my mother pleaded. "Please, Mal, yeh've gotta listen ta reason."

"I've never been a violent man, love," he said, "but there are some things even a man like me can't let happen."

"Willie!" he said. "Get my gun an' make sure it's loaded!"

"Yeh bloomin' idiot!" my mother cried. "Yeh kill 'im and we're gonna have to pack up and leave... our lives will never be the same... _his_ life will never be the same. Please... there's gotta be another way... there's just gotta."

"I pray that yer right, Edna," he said with regret.

"What're they talkin' 'bout?" Isum asked. "Is someone comin' to yer house?"

"I wish I knew, Isum," I replied as I opened the door a crack. "Wait a minute... I think I see someone."

"I don't see a thin'," he said as he poked his head out just a bit further. "Where 'bouts you seein' this feller?"

"Right there," I said, "between my parents, a quarter mile down the road."

The man was dressed head to toe in black robes, at least that's what it appeared like from this distance. He must be the order, my mother said, but what did it mean?

"What're we gonna do?" Isum asked.

"I wish I knew, Isum," I repeated. "I don't think nothin' good's comin' outta these here events."

"Oh ya?" he inquired.

"I can feel it. Deep down in my bones... somethin' ain't right, Isum... ain't right, at all."

* * * * * *

I'd been waiting in my room for a couple hours by this point. The robed stranger had been out there with my pa the entire time, and by the look of things, it wasn't going well. I was peering through my window, save for the moments when my father would glance back and send me hiding. I don't rightly know what they were speaking about, but that feeling, deep down in the pit of my stomach, was more pronounced.

My father had never acted so out of character before and while I looked down upon him, I came to a troubling discovery. Something had changed between my father and me, as if an emotional tether had been severed between us. He was my father, but it was like he was no longer my pa.

This so-called priest was a terrifying man, deathly pale and wrapped in a contrasting black ceremonial dress. He was shaved bald with a nasty scar that ran down his brow and past his milky white right eye, the other was a piercing blue that seemed to stare into ones soul and see their true self. He scared the life out of me, yet I couldn't look away in fear of what might happen.

_Knock_. _Knock_. Startled, I once again dashed from the window.

"May I come in?" my mother asked from the other side of the door. "I'd like to talk to yeh."

"Of course, mum," I replied.

"Do yeh know what's goin' on, Horace?" asked my mother as she sat down beside me on the bed.

"No, mum," I said. "I haven't a clue."

I was lying, of course, but she didn't need to know that. I figured if I played dumb that there might be a chance of learning something. It wasn't a good chance, but for an eight year old boy, I figured I didn't have much in the way of options.

"Good," she whispered into my ear. "Thing's you don't need to worry nothin' 'bout."

"Can I ask ya somethin' ma?" I asked with eyes wide open. "You an' pa... yer always gonna be 'round, ain't ya?"

"Always, 'ace," she said soothingly. "There ain't a force on this earth that'll keep yer pa and me away from yeh."

My mother wasn't the crying type. In many ways she was a tougher sort than my father, always primed for a fight and a take no prisoners attitude. She'd seen a lot of rough stuff before meeting up with pa. Not that you'd ever be able to tell, unless you got on her bad side. Whoever this priest was, I didn't envy him one bit.

The arguing outdoors stopped and I rushed to the window. Neither my father nor the priest could be seen. My mother joined me and gave me a tight hug that seemed to last an eternity. Maybe it was her way of saying goodbye, or it could've just been hopeful wishes, but even her touch now felt distant and foreign. She was my mother, always would be, but she didn't feel like ma.

_Knock_. _Knock_. _Knock_. I could always tell when my father was at the door. These knocks were unfamiliar and somewhat hostile.

"Can I come in?" my father asked. "The priest an' I've made a deal."

"Would that be okay, 'ace?" my mother asked as she squeezed my hand. "Yeh just say the word and he ain't gonna step foot in 'ere."

"No, ma... I'll talk to the man."

"Are yeh sure?" she asked.

"I think so."

"Aye, Mal," my mother hollered. "Yeh can bring 'im in, but talkin's all he's gonna do."

"I promise you that, ma'am," the priest replied as he entered the room. "My name's Walter Astor and I can assure you my intentions are only to offer Horace an alternative. The choice is his to make."

"Better be," my mother grumbled, "or I'll get the shotgun myself."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Horace," said Walter. "I've been looking forward to meeting with you for some time now."

"Mr. Astor's from the Order of Reapers and he'd like a few words with ya," my father said. "I told him that ya'd listen to his words, but he's no right to force ya to anythin' ya don't wanna do, ya got that?"

"Yes sir."

"I appreciate the introduction," Walter began, "but I didn't exactly say I'm part of the order, though our interests often overlap with one another."

"My apologies," my father said.

"None needed," the priest replied. "First, young Horace, I'd like to know if you've any questions to ask me."

"Where ya from, sir? I don't rightly recall another man talkin' like ya do... or looking like ya do—."

"Horace!" lectured my mother, "Yeh watch yeh manners when in this man's company, yeh hear?"

"It's quite all right, Mrs. McKidrict," said Walter as sat down. "A little curiosity is always a good thing in a boy. Well, boy, I'm from Liverpool... and the story of how I came to look like this is a very long story."

"Yer a Brit?" my father asked in astonishment. "Met at lot o' Brits in my day... never would've pegged you as one."

"Ah yes, the accent," Walter said with a smile. "I may've been born in Liverpool, but I was educated with the order... hence why you weren't able to detect my accent."

"Yer real old, mister," I said. I should've been more respectful, but around here there weren't many people that reached his age, his face all wrinkly and the scar was off-putting.

"Oh?" Walter asked with a stroke of his chin. "I'm not _that_ old, am I?"

"Ya look it."

"Looks can be deceiving, boy," Walter affirmed. "This mask I wear is nothing more than a battle scar from an encounter with a succubus."

"Ya fight monsters?" I asked beaming with excitement. "How cool is that?"

"Yes," he said, "and you can, too."

"Mal," my mother said through pursed lips. "I don't like where this is goin'."

"Please don't fill the boy's head with stories, priest," my father said.

"I understand," Walter replied. "Perhaps it would be better if I explain just what the order does... and why we choose the people that we do."

"That'd be fine," my father said.

"The order of reapers has existed for over five hundred and fifty years," Walter continued. "When the first Vatican City was swallowed whole by the earth and opened the gateway to the other dimensions, humans were caught in the middle of a war that raged for decades. A long period of darkness followed in its wake and plunged humanity down a dark path. It's the job of a reaper to cast back that darkness and fight for those that cannot. Heaven has its hands full, son, and it's our duty to give them the edge in the battle against the Devil himself."

"I... I don't think I'd like that."

"Well, Horace," said Walter as he rose to his feet. "There are some things in life that we cannot walk away from. You're a very talented young man and I'm here to bring you in."

"Ya heard the boy!" my father shouted. "He don't want nothin' to do with yer cause. Get out now, priest, or I'll shoot ya dead!"

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Walter said. "Now I don't take any pleasure in separating a boy from his family, but this boy was meant for a higher calling. Disagree all you wish... your boy leaves here with me."

"Mal," my mother wavered. "... Get the gun."

My father rushed from the room and down to the living room to fetch his shotgun. Walter waited patiently for his arrival; my mother pulled me back into the corner of the room and held me tightly.

"Yeh better get goin while yeh got a chance, priest," she said. "I swear... if Mal don't find the stomach to pull the trigger, I'll do it myself."

"That won't be necessary," Walter said. "Things generally end on this path."

My father entered in a hurry, sweat beading down his forehead and shotgun quivering in front. He wasn't a bad man, and I knew he could think of nothing worse than killing a priest. It wasn't until I saw the bright flash of fire streak across my bedroom that I understood what it was that he truly feared.

The shotgun crashed to the floor and my father grabbed hold of his hand, which was bleeding profusely on the hardwood floor. He looked back at the priest, completely dumbfounded as to how he'd failed.

Walter stood with pistol in hand and a smirk on his withered old face. He could've killed my father if he wanted to, but chose to remind him just who they were dealing with.

"Now, I can respect a man that cares enough about his boy to defend him with his life," Walter said as he approached my father, "but Horace's coming with me and there's nothing you can do to prevent that. You'll see your child again... all you need is a little faith."

"Ya get the _hell_ outta here—!" my father bellowed.

The priest pistol whipped my pa and he went down with a thud. I could see the blood pouring from his head, his wounds deep and not likely to close anytime soon.

"Yeh son of a bitch!" my mother screamed as she lifted me and dashed towards the door. She never even stopped to tend to her husband, thinking only of the threat we faced. With a hand in the air she charged forward, her battle cry echoing throughout the room. "I'll kill yeh if it's the last thing I do!"

"I feel your pain, Edna," said Walter, sidestepping my mother. "You've nothing to worry about... I'll treat the boy with the respect he deserves; I can assure you of that."

He struck my mother with the pistol and she fell beside my father. I wanted to save them from the bad old man, but I just stood there, quivering in my boots. He grabbed hold of me and carried me from the room. I was kicking and screaming, crying for my parents, but it was to no avail. I was the order's now, to do with as they saw fit.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, Horace," Walter said as he put me down and looked me in the eye. "Your calling is too great to waste, you may never thank me for what happened here today... but the world will."

Like my parents, he struck me with the butt end of his pistol. That's when a completely new life began. The next time I awoke, I was living in the south of Italy in the care of strangers. I was no longer a boy, but a tool for use in a war I knew nothing about.

They educated me, told me of the world and how it's been tainted by the otherworldly presences that stalk the land. How it was our duty to use the powers bestowed in us to save those we could and fight back against those that would harm us. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I enjoyed the grandeur of it all, but it didn't take long for the reality of the situation to fester within me.

I grew to respect Walter, but I never forgave him. I never did learn what became of my parents. It's not like I could ever go back there and face them, not after what I'd become. Sure, I looked human enough, but a cold and dark heart lay beneath my skin. They'd heal, move on with their life, and maybe even raise another kid. It would be a better life without me in it.
**Chapter Nine**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Best Intentions

I woke from the dream covered in sweat and breathing heavily. I don't know how long I'd been tossing back and forth, but I felt like I'd been dragged across through a war and lost the battle, too. I ran my hands through my hair and tried to gather my composure. It couldn't have been too late because the moon was still prominent in the sky and shining brightly though my Tavern room window.

"Beautiful night for a snooze," a man said from the other side of the room, sheathed in darkness and sitting in a rocking chair. He rocked back and forth for a moment and puffed on his freshly lit cigar.

I didn't need to see his face to know that he was grinning from ear to ear, enjoying a moment of my misery and liable to proceed in any direction he pleased. A man like him was impossible to read, his agenda far from the plights of the common man and serving his own greater purpose.

"Speak your peace," I said through gritted teeth. "I told you last time just what I thought of your brand of admonition."

"Oh, come now, reaper," said Gabriel as he rose to his feet and sauntered into the light. He was wearing the same porcelain white suit as before with matching suede shoes. I'm sure he thought his look came off as dapper and sophisticated, but to those close to him it just came off as pretentious. "I come to you once again not for yourself, but for those you choose to serve."

"Always speaking in riddles," I said. "Have you ever considered just coming out and telling me what you want? Might save a lot of time, but judging by the stupid look on your face... I think not."

"Mock me," said Gabriel, "do what it _is_ that you humans do when faced with the unknown. I come to you as an ally... but make no mistake, Horace; I can easily become an adversary."

"Then allow me the courtesy of putting on my pants," I said, getting out of bed.

"Such an obvious defense mechanism," he replied. "It's no wonder, I suppose, when you've got such glaring daddy issues."

"Go ahead," I said with my weapon drawn. "Say another thing about my pa."

"Don't be such a fool, reaper," said Gabriel. "We both know that trivial six-shooter would have no effect on me. Pull that trigger and it'll be the last thing you do."

As much as I didn't want to admit it, he was right. There wasn't a thing I could do to remove him from my room unless he saw fit to leave himself. The monsters I hunted were nothing more than scavengers in the night, followers of a master they knew little about. Gabriel, on the other hand, was one of the few leaders of Armageddon.

"So then, enlighten me with some revelation," I said, putting the revolver back on the dresser. "What words of wisdom do you come to me with?"

"Nothing of the sort," he said. "I've come to request that you reconsider your actions. The forces of Hell have clouded your mind, bent you to their will."

"I've heard _that_ from just about every junkie and lowlife I've come across."

"Don't be foolish," Gabriel said. "Your fate is predestined, one that must not be deviated from. Yet, as you stand here now, I see a man who has been altered. The path you walk is no longer your own and mark my words, Horace, it'll be the death of you."

"It's mighty kind of you to show me the light... being a mere mortal and all."

"Cynicism doesn't suit you," Gabriel replied. "We've crossed paths many times... more than most that walk this land. In all those times, I've regarded you as barely worth my time. Now, you stand apart in a way you'll never begin to understand. Much happened in the last two years, Horace, and it's your duty to find out what that was."

"You keep bringing up a past I don't remember," I said. "If you've got any information of the Abaddon I'm hunting... best spit it out or get your divine ass out of my room."

"I know it's your destiny to hunt the beast down," Gabriel divulged. "And you would've succeeded, too... had you not taken this detour."

"Yeah, well things kind of got in the way."

"Ah, yes," he said, "the _boy_. I know all about the boy. Let me tell you, reaper, the boy's life is insignificant to the grand scheme of things. I would have thought a man of your upbringing would have known that."

"Don't lecture me on my upbringing. My responsibility is to people... not creatures like you."

"It was a mistake to save the boy," he said. "I shouldn't have to tell you that. Of all the reapers in the world... you're the only one I thought would understand."

"Was it?" I asked. "There's a young boy near here that would beg to differ."

"Would he now?" Gabriel asked. "See, now that's interesting..."

I didn't like his tone, or his implication, but there wasn't a goddamn thing about Gabriel that I _did_ like. We'd known each other, as well as anyone could every truly know an angel, for over ten years now. He'd show up at the opportune time and take credit for the toils of my order. Since he was one of the only angels to grace us with his presence, we thanked the heavens that they didn't send more, and let us carry on with our business.

"I've never trusted an angel before and I'm not likely going to start now."

"That may very well be your undoing," Gabriel replied. "Heaven doesn't give a shit about this world... they don't understand what they'd be losing if Hell was unleashed upon the Earth. You'll always walk alone, Horace, unless you allow me to fight by your side. Discard my words, and you'll see yourself in an early grave."

"A reaper's grave is always an early one," I said. "First I'm barely worth your time, now you expect me to believe that you need me? You have any proof to back this up, or is it all just smoke and mirrors?"

"You must consider," said Gabriel. "Is saving the boy really worth it?"

Before I could respond, Gabriel stepped back into the darkness and disappeared from the room. Since his arrival I had wanted him gone, but he didn't show up unless he wanted to pull my strings like the marionette I was.

"Goodbye, Gabriel," I said with a sigh. "Thanks for leaving me alone with my thoughts... that _never_ turns out badly."
**Chapter Ten**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Led Astray

It took a long time to get back to sleep. It was a new day and with it new possibilities in my hunt for the creature known as the Abaddon. I had lost too many days; the trail would have gone cold and its destination a complete mystery. Gabriel wasn't wrong in that regard. I had sacrificed much for Billy Godwin and his strange old companion.

I made my way downstairs to the bar with the thought of a bottle of Jack. It was easier to numb the pain than to suffer that was the first thing Walter ever taught me. Sure, he was talking about channeling that anger towards training, and it worked for a time, but as the years grew on, I found that this way worked much better.

"Hey there, pal," said the bartender as I entered the bar. "Did you hear the news over the wire?"

"It's been a long night," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I reckon its bad news."

"How'd you know?" he asked. "You got some of that pre-cognition jazz I keep hearing about?"

"It's nothing of the sort, when is it ever good news over the wire? That tech's so old that they don't bother using it unless they've got bad news... _that_ or blubbering rednecks bellyaching about equal rights."

"Aye, a real action hero died last night," he said with a quiver of his lip. "Patrick Swayze passed away from cancer."

"No shit?"

"I kid you not, pal," said the bartender. "The Duke himself... I mean, George _fucking_ McLintock... the greatest actor ever to grace the silver screens; may god rest his soul in peace."

"I'm going to need a drink," I said, grabbing a stool at the bar and dropping a few bucks. "Make it two."

"Jack Daniels?" he asked.

"I'm gonna need the strongest drink ya got, mister. I'm suddenly findin' myself in dire need o' something stiff."

The news cut me to the bone. I had spent countless nights watching his movies with my dad. He was a real hero to me, practically raised me when my parents were busy working the land.

The bartender passed me two shots of the foulest thing I'd ever smelled. I grabbed one of the shots and poured it onto the hardwood floor and pounded the other back as fast as I could.

"Sorry partner," I said, "Hand me a rag... I was just pouring one for the dead."

"For Mr. Swayze you can pour out all the drinks you want," he said.

The bartender poured another two shots and passed one to me. We sat there for a moment lost in our memories and saying silent prayers for a man that had touched our heart in so many ways.

"To Patrick Swayze... the toughest son of a bitch in this realm," the bartender said with a shot raised high in the air. "There'll never be another like him."

* * * * * *

After a few more drinks I staggered out of the Rusty Nail and towards the stables. I don't know if it was the death of the actor that affected me so, but I suddenly felt the urge to see Billy, just one more time. Something didn't sit right with me, whether it was from the only words he ever spoke to me or the cryptic message I received from Gabriel.

"Is saving the boy really worth it?" I quoted the angel under my breath. "I've already saved the damn kid..."

It took me awhile, but I finally managed to make my way to the house where I left Billy. I'd had a little too much of whatever moonshine that bartender had supplied me with.

_Knock_. _Knock_. Hiccup. _Knock_.

"Is anyone there?" I asked, pounding on the door, "I... I said, is anyone there?"

No response. I could hear someone pacing back and forth, "Mr. Godwin? I'd like ta talk ta Billy."

There it was again. I could hear someone behind the door. Still, I received nothing from the other side.

"Now, Mr. Godwin, ya don' wanna go makin' me angry," I said with a hand on my pistol. "Plenty o' men 'ave tried that... they didn't like what happened next—."

"Pardon me, gunslinger," said a man from behind. "I reckon you better still your hand, lest you want a bullet in the back o' the head."

I could feel the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed up to the back of my head. I'd experienced it a few times and it never did get any more pleasant.

"Ya got me, partner," I mumbled with my hands in the air. "Don't go doin' nothin' too crazy, ya hear?"

"That's Sheriff, to a piece of scum like you," the man said. "I heard what you were hollering. We don't stand for that in this town."

"Well then I'll just pack up an' leave."

"Not like this you're not," he replied. "You stink like a man that's been rolling in a whiskey barrel. I reckon you'll do much less harm to this town if you've had a night to sleep it off in the drunk tank"

"Now that would be a foolish decision, Sheriff."

"Indulge me, asshole," Sheriff Madsen said as he cocked the hammer of his pistol. "Be decent enough about this an' I might even let you walk outta here with your six-shooter."

"Not bloody likely."

"Now get movin', we haven't got all day." The Sheriff said.

Even half drunk and stumbling I could've disarmed the Sheriff in the blink of an eye, fired off a couple shots and laid to rest anyone else that tried to stop me. That would've meant a quick getaway and left my questions for Billy Godwin unanswered.

The Sheriff led me to jail with his gun still pressed to my head. There was a slack-jawed yokel sitting behind a desk, his name prominently positioned for all to see. He was a real slimy looking young man, greased back hair and the patchiest beard I'd ever seen.

"Nice ta meet ya, Deputy Foreskin," I said, barely able to control myself, ready to burst out in laughter.

"That's Deputy Forsythe, asshole," said the young man as he got up from his chair. "Right this way, Sheriff. I'll treat 'im _real_ good. Some ol'-fashioned justice, ya know?"

"Better get close with wha'ever god ye pray ta... you'll be seein' 'im soon 'nuff." I giggled.

"Big talk gunslinger," Sheriff Madsen said as he pushed me towards the only cell in the jail. "You're gonna sleep it off... an' if we still got a problem in the mornin', then you're just gonna have to spend another night in the slammer."

"Yeah, screw ya, too."

"That's the spirit," he replied. "Get real comfortable... I reckon you're gonna be here for a while."

I knew the liquor was a bad idea from the second it passed my lips, but I was a lost cause. There wasn't any coming back from the awful things I've seen in this life. Most of the times, the alcohol dulled my senses and allowed me a moment of peace. Other times, I'd wind up in places like this... more times than I'd care to admit.

"Oh, an' I'll be keepin' your six-shooter. I've gotten mighty fond of it in this short while... think I'll just have to keep it for myself." said Sheriff Madsen with a grin.

I sprawled out on the grimy cot and rested my arms behind my head. If I was going to be here for awhile, I might as well catch up on my sleep.
**Chapter Eleven**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Getting Soft

There wasn't a single window in this damned jail, I'd been asleep a few hours, maybe more, it could've been just about any time of day. My plans consisted of me breaking the deputy's arm and making off under the cover of night. I'd spent too many days in a cell such as this one and my skin was beginning to crawl at the thought.

"Hey there, boy," I said on my bed, slouched up against the wall. "I'm talking to you, Foreskin."

"It's Forsythe, dipshit," the deputy said with his feet propped up on the only desk, "An' who else _would_ ya be talkin' to? It ain't like someone's coming to save you."

"I'm not the one who needs saving, Foreskin."

"Shut ta fuck up," he grumbled.

"You don't know a thing about me, Foreskin."

"I know yer type," he said. "Walk around thinkin' yer all high and mighty, better than the Sheriffs and Deputies that make these lands safe."

"Is that what you do?"

"I don't care if yer a gunslinger," the deputy continued. "Ya might even be a train robber for all I know... hightailin' it as far away as ya can before the Marshals catch wind of ya bein' here. Or maybe yer just one of those types crazy enough to chase the devil with horns on. I don't really care which one ya are, dirt bag. All I need to know is yer on the other side of these bars and the Sheriff wants ya to stay there. Good enough for me on even the shittiest day."

"Tell me how you truly feel."

"Ya'd like that, wouldn't ya?" he asked. "I bet ya get off on hearin' about others. I reckon ya think yer some real slick shit. Not today, and not after I'm through with ya."

"You got me all figured out it seems," I said, rising from the bed and walking over to the iron bars that separated us. "No point in hiding it anymore. I'm a bad, bad man, Deputy Foreskin, and you _don't_ want to mess with me."

"Keep talkin'," the deputy replied. "You'll be an ol' man before ya see the other side o' these bars."

"What time's it, Foreskin?"

"It's _fuck you_ o'clock!" Deputy Forsythe shouted as he brandished a pistol. "I told ya to stop callin' me that! Say it one more goddamn time... go on... I fucking dare ya!"

The deputy stood shaking, and shuffled over towards me. He might try to talk tough, but his nervousness told me more. Likely this wee little deputy had never been in a fight he couldn't fix, probably never fired that gun of his, either.

"You're a true blue hero," I said with my hands on the iron bars. "I bet you wanted to grow up just like the Duke, himself. Probably the reason you put on that badge... am I right?"

"Yer damn right!" the deputy bellowed as he took a step closer. "Ya don't have the privilege of mutterin' his name. He respected the law, knew when to step up and be counted. He'd be sick to his goddamn stomach lookin' at the likes o' you."

"Boy, you don't have the guts to pull that trigger. You're no man, you're nothing more than a rat, so crooked it could swallow nails and spit out corkscrews."

"I told ya," he said with the pistol pressed to my head. "Keep it up an' I'll swear to the Sheriff ya took my keys an' I was actin' in self defense."

"But that's exactly what I'm doing, Foreskin—."

"I told ya!" the deputy screamed as he pulled back the hammer. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up!"

I grabbed the gun before he managed to pull the trigger and a bullet fired into the cell. I pulled his arm and used the iron bars to snap it in two. He cried out in agony, spewing vomit across the room.

"M-my arm!" he cried. "Ya broke my _fucking_ arm!"

"You're lucky I didn't kill you," I said, rummaging through his pockets, "but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it."

"Goodnight, Foreskin," I said as I banged his head against the bars, "...Or maybe I should say good morning, someone didn't have the courtesy to tell me."

It took a little longer than usual, but I was a free man once more. I unlocked the bars, grabbed the pistol and dragged the unconscious Deputy Forsythe into the cell. He wasn't bleeding heavily but he could lose the use of his arm.

I checked through the Sheriff's records in order to get a better idea what I was dealing with. A man like him probably had a number of men on his payroll, those not in uniform and hidden behind dark shadows. It didn't take me long before I gave up my search. Whatever this crooked copper was dealing in, he kept his contacts in a safer place.

"I reckon I misjudged you, Sheriff," I said under my breath. "Maybe you're not a complete buffoon after all."

* * * * * *

I waited in the jail for close to an hour, until it got dark, his gun aimed towards the door as I sat in his chair. I was a patient man, but I needed to be on the road, and my time could be better spent than sitting in the tiniest shithole of a Sheriff's office I'd ever seen.

I opened the door of the jail to find that night had indeed fallen and surprised I also found the esteemed Sheriff waiting for me outside, henchmen to each side with guns drawn.

"Nice to see ya awake, Mr. McKidrict," said the Sheriff as he took a step forward. "I've been waiting for ya. Never did like the boy much... and now I've got two men to replace him. I reckon ya remember them?"

It was the two rednecks from the fight in the tavern, one Irishman and one enormous hillbilly, now standing like toy soldiers, straight as an arrow and lacking the stink of alcohol or any emotion.

When I first saw them in the bar, I didn't give them a second thought. They were hooligans, not worth the time it'd take to stomp them. They were the kind that took up space in the world, never contributing and certainly never amounting to anything of value.

These men barely resembled the two. They stood without expression; their stares were dead, with not a hint of thought behind their eyes. It was as if they had lost the freewill that was given to them in birth.

I didn't know how the Sheriff was doing it, there was something more going on in this town than I had realized. The bartender was right; I'd never seen a drunk tank like the one in this town.

The Sheriff held my gun and ordered his boys to holster theirs; they both did so willingly and stepped forward to fight me, their daggers glistening in the moonlight.

Even liquored up and full of narcotics, these lowlifes wouldn't have managed to slow me down for more than a minute. Still, I had little time to spare and I wasn't about to waste any more time dealing with them. It was the Sheriff that I wanted. Unlike these two _shells_ , he knew exactly what he was doing.

Before they took another step I put them down with two bullets to the brain. They weren't bad men, but they were in my way; and the latter never fared well. They were both rocked backwards and collapsed to the ground.

Two bullets down, that left one for the Sheriff. "Never bring a knife to a gunfight, Sheriff!"

"Now don't think for a second that I won't put one through your head too if your finger so much as twitches. Put my gun in my holster and take it off, nice and slow... we're going to take our time with this."

"So now we do this hard way?" the Sheriff asked. "Ya got a real twisted sense o' morals, Horace."

"That's twice you've used my name," I said, watching him lower my gun. "Now, how exactly do you know who I am?" You got someone else pulling the strings, I get that. What I don't get is why anyone would give a shit about some inbred wannabe, playing Sheriff with a brain damaged deputy—."

"You're nothin' but a tick," he said, "feedin' off the blood o' hard workin' people. I'm gonna enjoy this, reaper."

I expected him to strike first, even gave him the opening he needed. I figured I might as well give him a running start, so to speak. What I didn't expect, however, was he'd be concealing brass knuckles. The taste of blood had already reached my mouth by the time I hit the ground. The Sheriff started to rain down blows as he straddled me.

"One more for the good guys," the Sheriff said as he licked some blood from his brass knuckles. "I'll see you in Hell, you uncivilized piece of trash."

With his back arched and fist raised high, the Sheriff prepared to crush my skull with one final blow, but a kick to his balls made him recoil in agony.

"Nothing but trash, isn't that right, Sheriff?" I asked, slowly picking myself up and wiping the blood from my eyes.

I caught the gleam from the brass knuckles as Sheriff Madsen swung to strike me one more time. I sidestepped the blow and returned one of my own, hard into the solar plexus. He gasped for air frantically as I darted into the shadows, out of his line of sight. The Sheriff had done a number on me. One more slip and it'd be my last.

"Show yourself, reaper!" barked Sheriff Madsen. "I want to see the life flee from your eyes when I bash your goddamn skull in!"

"You've called me by name," I said, stepping from the shadows. "You've called me by title. Explain to me just how you know who I am? What demon is it that whispers in your ear?"

"Fuck you," the Sheriff said.

He took a jab at me, but I avoided it and took his legs out from under him. I stepped on his hand and wrapped my hand around his throat and dug in deep as he gasped for air, spittle running down his chin.

"How do you know my name?" I asked once more. "Tell me and I'll make this quick."

"I'm not tellin' you shit," he croaked. "If you're gonna kill me, get on with it."

"You're not getting off that easy... believe me, Sheriff; I know pain."

"You h-heard me," the Sheriff stammered. "You can g-go screw y-yourself, reaper."

"Relax Sheriff," I said, "You're going to live... both you and your good for nothing deputy."

I struck him in the head with the butt end of the gun. He went out like a light and went limp under my grip. He wouldn't to be bothering me anymore.

"You're a lucky man, Sheriff," I said, collecting my holstered gun. "Ten years ago I would've plugged all three of you before you got a chance to open your damned mouth. So yeah, you're lucky that I'm getting soft."

I looked down the dimly lit street and made sense of my path. It was a clear shot to the stables, but there was something I had to do first. It wasn't for Gabriel or the boy that I stayed, but the crazy old geezer I made a promise to and I intended to see it through.

Honor is a fickle thing among men. For most, it's a moral compass upon which they could judge, and be judged by others, a code most seemed to abide. But there was always differences between the codes of men, some so stained and twisted who'd see the world burn to make their dreams come true.

There weren't many men in the world to stop them, but those of us that did, found we had to become like them to bring them down. For in the darkest depths where those vile creatures roam, they are most vulnerable.

It was a fine line in which I walked, and the harder I tried to be a better man, the less I became what it was that made me special in the first place. I was a cold-blooded killer, bred for battle with Hell's most unholy of creatures, and I was good at it, at least I used to be.
**Chapter Twelve**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Fight Another Day

I stumbled down the main street as fast as I could. My head was ringing and blood continued to stream down my brow and into my eyes. I would've passed out had it not been for the urgency of the situation. By the time the sun rose, I would be far away from here. They could chase me, but I was wise in the ways of tracking, and of keeping tracks away from prying eyes.

Whatever was going on in this town, it wasn't my job to find out. All that mattered was grabbing Billy Godwin and taking him someplace safe. I hadn't thought of what would happen to the boy afterwards and frankly it didn't bother me in the least. Most likely, I'd drop him at the first orphanage I could find. It wouldn't be great for him but it was much better than his life here.

The Sheriff couldn't wield a power like this. My first thought went to banshees, wicked monsters that could bend the will of man to suit their purposes. Still, it mattered little what creature had taken over this town, I had bigger fish to fry.

"Here goes nothing," I said out loud, not a single soul roamed the street. I rushed up to the door and knocked hard. "Mr. Godwin, are you there?"

No response from anyone inside.

"It's urgent! If you're the there, Billy, you've got to answer me!"

Once more, no response, however I could hear someone moving. I'd be our here all night or until the Sheriff had managed to bring a small army this time.

"I'm coming in!" I shouted and using the strength and skill afforded to those of my order, I kicked down the door. The house was dark except for the moonlight and stank of manure.

"What the hell do you want?" Mr. Godwin asked as he stepped from the shadows. "You get the hell out of my house!"

The boy's father stopped in his tracks, much like most men do when staring down the barrel of a gun, cocked and ready to fire. He even wet himself a little as he cringed back from me; again, not an uncommon sight for those unaccustomed to the ways of the old days. Eventually, we all learn one way or another.

"Help!" cried Billy from somewhere upstairs. "Horace... help me!"

"Stay right there," I commanded the boy's father as I started up the staircase. "If I come back and you're not here... I'll start shooting and believe me, Mr. Godwin, I don't miss."

I made it up to where I could hear Billy begging behind a door. I could feel his frightened banging on the door. _Bump_. _Bump_. _Bump_.

"The door is locked!" I bellowed. "Stand back, Billy! I'm going to kick the door down and you don't want to be behind it!"

I waited until I heard Billy shuffle to the back of the room before I kicked yet another door down.

"Come quick," I said, motioning to the boy. "We're going to get you out of here."

As Billy stepped out of the room and past a moonlit window I caught a glimpse of the young boy, still in the tattered rags that I had found him in. He had been locked in a dungeon for days and seemed to fare no better here. His blonde hair was still matted with sweat and blood.

"What the hell's been going on here?" I said in shock.

"You're not taking my boy," Mr. Godwin argued as he grabbed the Billy from the stairs. "The master mustn't know of the boy's return! I've already lost one child... I cannot lose another! I've given up too much to let you take him from me—!"

"Say another word, you sick bastard," I said, aiming my revolver at his head. "Just give me one more reason."

I was ready to pull the trigger but I felt a slight tug on my duster that halted my actions. I looked down to see Billy, wide-eyed and tearing up at the thought of losing his father. Mr. Godwin wasn't a good man by any stretch of the word, but he was still the young boy's father, and no child should have to see his father gunned down in front of him.

"You're a lucky man, Mr. Godwin," I said, "but not _that_ lucky." as I struck him with me gun on the side of his head and sent him reeling to the ground. Billy cried out, seeing his father bleeding on the floor, but I assured the boy that his father would be all right after a sleep. I grabbed Billy by the hand to lead him out of his house.

"We're going to get you out of here Billy, where no one will hurt you."

I turned, stopped and shielded him behind me. It looked as if every man, woman and child in town was standing in the street outside the house. They were waving torches and pitchforks in the air, the only weapons they likely had. Half of the townsfolk wore the same vacant expression as the two thugs the Sheriff had set upon me; the rest shouted obscenities and cursed me, believing that I was to answer for their sins. Even the bartender was there and while he wasn't a man I expected to bond with, I never thought to see him spewing the same bile from his lips as the rest of the pack. Perhaps they were right, but I wasn't about to be judged here, by them.

I should've fired my gun into the air to drive the horde back, but I couldn't help but reel from the parallels between this crowd and the people that'd saved me from the Abaddon all those months ago. They were simple people wielding whatever weapons they could find, all in the hope of driving back the darkness that threatened to unravel their town. This time, however, the monster was me. I was the one they feared so much that they'd risk their lives to stop me.

"Come out here an' face the music!" Sheriff Madsen shouted as he pushed through the crowd. "I'll have your damned head on a pike!"

The Sheriff didn't look any better than when I'd left him lying in a pool of his own blood but he was full of piss and vinegar and ready to go another round.

"You gonna take us all on, gunslinger?" the Sheriff continued. "I doubt you've got enough bullets for all of us."

"I reckon I just need one," I said with my gun aimed at him. "Strike you down and watch them scurry."

"You know nothin'," he replied. "This lot will tear you apart, piece by piece, until all that's left of you is feed for the pigs!"

We'll see about that, I thought to myself, but another tug on my jacket pulled me back to Billy. He was scared, no doubt about that, but even though he spoke no words, I could understand exactly what his eyes were trying to say. There was a way out of this mess and Billy knew exactly where it was.

"Another day, Sheriff," I said, as I pulled a large bookcase beside the front door over to block the home's entrance and hurried after Billy through the dark.

"Get him you idiots!" the Sheriff bellowed. "The one who kills 'im, gets a statue in 'is honor!"

"Well go! And fast, that won't hold'em long boy." I said.

He pointed to a doorway and I scooped him up and ran, downstairs, which was odd enough, seeing as houses like these rarely had basements and none that spiraled as I barreled downwards with Billy over my shoulder.

"What the hell is this?" I asked myself at the bottom of a cavernous room with a big black hole in the wall that appeared as if it had been created from the outside in. I don't know how recent this development had been, but debris from the hole lay around the entrance and no attempt to clean it up had been made.

"I hope you know where you're going, boy," I said, but he looked just as unsure about the situation as I was. Still, we didn't have much of a choice so I pressed on through the hole until we were concealed by the same shroud of darkness that covered the entire passageway.

Monsters thrived in the dark, and now I was walking straight into their lair. That was all right with me, however. Monsters I could kill, but an entire village of people was without precedence. If I was walking into a trap, I'd bring Hell down with me before I gave up the fight. A reaper doesn't fear, he is feared, by humans and demons alike.
**Chapter Thirteen**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Down and Out

Billy and I trudged through the tunnel in the dark. It came to an end at another that would run under the main street, at least that's what it felt like. We couldn't travel any faster in the dark, his tender hand wrapped around mine.

"Did you feel that?" I asked, feeling something brush past my leg. Billy must've have felt it, too, because almost immediately he tightened his grip and wouldn't let go. "C'mon, boy, we've got to find a way out of this place."

I only had my Zippo to light the way through the intersecting passageways. I ran my hand along the rocky wall, covered in the same dark and grimy material that we were shuffling through. All of these tunnels looked identical and I had no idea if we were traveling in the right direction, or if we had turned completely around.

I had little doubt that the townsfolk had already managed to get around the crude blockade in pursuit. Still, I couldn't hear them, either we were far ahead of them, or lost in the labyrinth.

"Hold up, boy," I said. "I feel something."

I traced the outline of a board nailed to the wall. I wiped the grime away. "I think it's a map of some sort," I said, "Perhaps we'll find an exit somewhere on here."

It was indeed directions, with markings, for homes, the tavern and even the boarded up church—every structure in the town seemed to be connected to the tunnels. The one thing that didn't seem to be accounted for was what we needed most, a way out of this mess.

"We're going to have to settle on the saloon," I said. "I don't know how much I can trust the bartender, but he's not one of them... I know that much."

"That means we're going to have to go straight for three intersections, and then a left," I continued. "It's right across from the abandoned church. Can you remember that? Well, if we get off course you just speak up and tell me."

A smile grew on Billy's face, but he still didn't speak. I could tell that he was thankful for the rescue, then, he once again held on for dear life as something scurried past our feet.

"C'mon, boy," I said. "Let's not stay here any longer than we have to."

It couldn't have been any more than a hundred yards to freedom, but a hundred yards had never seemed so far away. We passed the next intersection and a dimly lit fire seemed to be burning in the distance. I paused and looked back; everything was hazy and filled with smoke from torches.

"Billy," I said, "I need you to keep going and stay ahead of me. We've got trouble."

I could see several of the townsfolk emerging from the smog, brandishing the same peasant weapons and grim demeanor as before. I hurried our pace until we reached the next intersection, and saw the same. They were closing in on us.

"The boy belongs to us!" Sheriff Madsen bellowed from somewhere, his voice echoing throughout and impossible to locate. "And now, reaper, you belong to us, as well!"

I pushed Billy harder; he almost stumbled so I grabbed him and ran. We made a left at the next intersection which was dark and empty, now a comforting sight which hopefully leads to the tavern and out of this town.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the Sheriff sang mockingly. "I never did get to settle that little score of ours."

I gave him no response. That's what he was hoping for; saying anything at all would reveal me.

"Oh, don't be like that!" he hollered. "You an' I... we've got some catchin' up to do."

I could see the villagers closing behind us. What did stick in my craw was that I was fleeing for my life. I'd faced down battalions before and never once thought about fleeing, but a couple dozen townsfolk with pitchforks and I was heading for the hills.

"Come 'ere!" shouted a woman. "The master's heard all about you, child."

The scraggly-looking woman lunged for Billy, but I caught her by the hair and planted her face first in the dirt. I ordered Billy to run and once he'd managed to get far enough ahead, I let the woman go and continued on after him.

"I can hear you," the Sheriff said.

"Don't listen to him, boy," I whispered, "He's just trying to rattle us... we've only got a little ways to go and then Betsy will take us far away from this place. Mark my words, little man; we'll see the night sky again. I'm not going to let this be the last place either of us sees."

I could hear the townspeople much closer than before. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but the boy was slowing me down, and a bloodless getaway was becoming less likely by the second.

"We're gonna getcha!" the Sheriff howled. "You're dead, reaper! I'll fry you up an' eat you for supper!"

"Go, boy!" I shouted, not bothering to conceal myself any longer. "Run for your damned life!"

I turned to face the villagers with my revolver drawn. I wasn't going to start blasting them so I fired into the dirt, an act they saw right through and continued to press forward. I turned to follow Billy, now a dozen yards ahead of me.

"Gotcha!" one of the townspeople barked as he appeared from out in front of us and grabbed hold of Billy.

I tried to reach him but he was too far from me and by the time I got there Billy had been passed back to others and lost to me.

"Fuck!" I screamed in frustration. "Billy, where are you? Billy!"

"Lost somethin', have you?" the Sheriff asked from behind me. I turned to see Sheriff Madsen

."You lay a hand on his head and it'll be the last thing you do! When this is all said and done, Sheriff... you'll be staring up at me while the blood drains from your body."

The Sheriff howled a sickly laughter; he was reveling in my misery. He was a depraved man and one that had lived well past his expiry date. I should've killed him when I had the chance.

"Is that a fact?" he asked. "Because right now you've lost the only damn leverage you had."

I wanted nothing more than to break the Sheriff's neck but he was right, now I needed him if I wanted to find Billy.

"Billy," I stammered as I looked for the boy. "I'm so sorry."

It wasn't the boy's fault that I was a failure; he was a victim of my poor planning and bad timing. My shortcomings had cost Billy his freewill. There was nothing I could do for him now.

"Where are you goin'?" the Sheriff asked. "Oh, c'mon now, reaper, we're just startin' to have some fun!"
**Chapter Fourteen**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Trust No One

I had only choice left now and it certainly didn't lie in the Rusty Nail tavern. I ran past the Sheriff bowling him and the townspeople over through the tunnel and into one of the crude basements. I only hoped the boy was still safe, something I knew wasn't likely the case.

I made my way up another spiral staircase that was situated at the end of the cellar, illuminated by a light from up above.

I climbed into a small closet, the light wasn't in the room, but shone through a stained-glass pane in the door, two dancing cherubs under a soaring white dove, barely visible through a coating of dirt.

"Whenever there's a crazy cult on the loose, the first place to check is always a church," I mumbled to myself.

I emerged from a confessional booth into the chapel, the same grunge covered every inch of the place. It stood two stories tall with a sweeping balcony that ran across the end wall. There were a dozen pews on each side of the aisle, chopped to pieces and barely resembling what they once were. The entire church was boarded up from the outside, it should've been as dark as the catacombs I crawled out from but there was a bright light that flooded the room with its glowing aura, coming from the most unlikely source.

Behind the altar and raised from the floor stood an enormous glowing cross with a crucified Jesus. I'd never seen such a statue so I moved closer to investigate the mysterious source of light. As I moved near, I noticed the figure nailed to the cross wasn't a man, and it was certainly no statue. There was a woman nailed to the cross, barely breathing and not coherent enough to notice my presence.

The woman, a girl, barely in her teens with golden locks that curled down her naked body glistening with sweat and nails pounded into her flesh, it was a sickening sight.

"Ma'am," I said, "Can you hear me?"

"I'm afraid she cannot," a familiar voice said from behind me. "I've kept her heavily sedated while I take the blood I need."

I turned to face Gabriel, his white suit shining like a beacon in the bright light. He walked towards me with a grin stretched across his face.

"I know enough about virgin sacrifices," I said with my pistol raised and pointed towards the helpless woman. "Kill the offering and the curse usually stops."

"You're a very learned man, Horace," replied Gabriel, "This woman was given to me by another... one that understands the need to reshape our destiny. I hope you are smart enough to know when to back down."

Before I had time to pull the trigger and end the woman's life, Gabriel sent me hurtling across the room with but a flick of his wrist. I struck hard against the barricaded front door. I was determined to show no weakness and staggered to my feet. Every bone in my body was on fire, a rush of searing pain that shot from one nerve to the next in rapid succession. Still, I stood my ground and refused to flinch as I stared down the angel.

"Don't be a fool, reaper" he said, "You need me far more than I need you, but if you persist in messing about in my plans, I'm going to have to remove you from this realm."

"What exactly do I need you for?"

"I know what happened to you, Horace, what happened in those two years that's gone from your head."

"You did something to me? I'll... I'll..."

"You'll do what?" the angel asked with a sneer. "Shoot me? We both know that isn't going to do you any good."

"Don't be so blinded by your own ego," he continued. "Your coming here wasn't by accident. You were led to this very place, Horace, by creatures that wish to see my work undone."

"And what work would that be? Turning helpless townspeople into senseless slaves isn't exactly God's work."

"Shortsighted, too," Gabriel said with a disapproving snort. "My creations don't kill, rape, pillage, one another, they simply exist to serve the Lord to the best of their ability."

"And lose their freewill in the process," I said with my pistol raised once more. "I might not be able to finish you off, but I'll take your precious offering with me."

I charged towards Gabriel, my duster billowing behind me as I fired off five shots in the angel's direction. As expected, he managed to catch all the bullets with his hands, dropping them one by one. As the last bullet hit the floor, I lunged at Gabriel and tried to tackle him to the ground.

"Wrong move," the angel said as he grabbed me by the throat. "Yet I'm a loving angel... a merciful angel... and I'll give you one more chance to contemplate the gravity of your situation."

Gabriel hurled me down the chapel again, the doors cracking as I smashed into them once more. The pain was excruciating, it was a hopeless battle that I waged, one not meant for a mortal such as I. The larger than life angel was invincible, at least to anything I could do to him, but I had to try. I was nothing if not a man of my word, after all.

"This one's for you, Gabriel." I said as I slowly rose to my feet. I tried to stabilize myself and I was bleeding profusely, barely able to see as the blood streamed down my face. I knew my end was near.

"Say you were able to kill her... wouldn't I just find another?" he asked mockingly. "I mean, really now... face it, Horace, you've lost this one. Concede now or it'll be the death of you."

"We both know that won't happen."

"Yes, I believe we do," the angel began with a hand pressed against the woman's cheek. "Tell me, why do you think you were left alive by the Abaddon?"

"Some villagers found me, gravely injured and close to death. They saved my life."

"Oh, that's right," the angel said with a laugh. "The villagers and their pitchforks... what demon from the echelons of Hell's lowest circles _wouldn't_ be frightened by the sight? Do you really believe that, reaper?"

"I believe it more than your sudden turn from the light."

"Then I'm sure you believe yourself strong enough to defeat it, as well?" Gabriel asked. "You're a bigger fool than I thought. A beast born from hellfire is far beyond the vampires and ghouls that you stalk. You're out of your league, reaper, and the beast's been toying with you from the beginning."

"Put the gun down," he continued. "You're not going to be shooting anyone; you don't have it in you, not anymore."

He was right. I didn't have it in me to end this right here and now. This woman, whoever she was, hadn't asked for any of this. I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger again.

"Do the other angels know of your plans?" I asked.

"You'd be surprised how little my order knows of this realm," Gabriel said. "Like I've told you before, humans concern them very little."

"Well then, aren't we lucky to have you on our side?"

"More than you know," he replied, brushing off the obvious sarcasm in my words. "In the coming months you'll be very fortunate to have my assistance... should you choose to accept it. But no one must know of my involvement... though it would appear my enemies have learned much."

"Who would these enemies be that you keep talking about?"

"The dark ones that stole two years from your life," Gabriel said. "The Rapture is real, Horace, and it's coming very soon. But unlike the stories told to children, there's no one coming to whisk the mortals off this realm. Nothing but death and destruction lies in wait and unless we work together, all your trials will have been for naught."

The sound of struggling came from the closet I emerged from. "Didn't think you'd see me again, did ya?" asked Sheriff Madsen as he carried something into the chapel. "Well I knew I'd be seein' you again, so I thought I'd bring along a little friend." Wrapped up in his arms was Billy Godwin, covered in grime and struggling to get out.

"Thanks Sheriff, for saving me the trouble of having to find your tired old ass," I said with my gun drawn. My hand trembled in the air; it had never felt heavier, more alien.

"Children, please," Gabriel jested. "We're all on the same side here... working for the same outcome."

"Keep telling yourself that." I scoffed.

"Listen to the master, or I'll put a bullet in you... right between the eyes." the Sheriff added.

"I don't often find myself agreeing with the help, but he's right," the angel said "Lower your weapon Horace and join us. Fulfill what you were put on this world to do... triumph over Hell itself."

"And what makes you think I'll do that?"

"The boy," Gabriel replied glibly. "You'll do it to save the boy."

The way I figured it, I was out of options. I could go down blasting away, drop the Sheriff and end up with me on the floor again, coughing up a lung and bleeding out all over the floorboards while Billy went to an early grave, if he was lucky.

My second choice was to give up and the boy would live. I could continue on with my fight against the forces of Hell, and at the end of the day, that's all I was ever any good at.

I'd never gone back on my word before, but I'd be lying if I didn't say these circumstances had me toying with the notion. I wanted so badly to go down fighting, but even though I could scarcely admit it to myself, I just wasn't able to go through with it. I wasn't that kind of man anymore.

What other choice did I really have in the matter?

**Chapter Fifteen**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

Careful What You Ask

I looked at Gabriel and the Sheriff kneeling beside Billy. I was without hope, both choices led to my damnation, one in the servitude of a master I wanted no part of; and the other with me bleeding out on the floor and an eternity in the furthest depths of Hell.

Gabriel leaned against the altar, his legs crossed and a smug grin stretched across his face. He was enjoying my suffering, and wanted me to know that my downfall was inescapable, like the virgin nailed to the cross.

He was using these poor people for his own sadistic plan. He was working behind the scenes to turn this town into his sick and depraved breeding ground in order to push back the gates of Hell. I didn't know what his endgame was, but I knew it was something I wanted no part of.

The Sheriff taunted the young boy. He pawed at Billy's hair with one of his grubby hands while he danced a stiletto around his belly. He frothed at the mouth, blood mixed with saliva dripping down onto Billy's tattered clothing, with each exaggerated insult

The young Billy Godwin was a victim of forces far beyond him. I could see in his eyes, an intense and acute sense of fear. He trembled in the Sheriff's clutches, desperately trying to shake himself free.

"So you need my help?" I asked.

"No, reaper," Gabriel corrected. "I _want_ your help... if you so choose to give it. Make no mistake... my plans will continue on, with or without your assistance."

"I'll never work with that degenerate called a Sheriff."

"Then don't," he replied. "You'll be a much more suitable right hand than him."

"Wait a minute," the Sheriff blabbered with eyes wide open. He shot an alarmed look towards Gabriel, but the angel continued on as if he'd never spoken.

"The Sheriff was a necessary evil," Gabriel said. "Go ahead... it's not like I'll need him any longer."

"Wait, wait, wait," the Sheriff stammered. "Now wait just a fucking minute!"

My hand trembled under the weight of my gun, but I trusted in the instincts I'd honed and squeezed the trigger. My aim held true and the bullet passed within an inch of Billy's face to find its target.

Sheriff Madsen's last look was one of shock as he stared down the bullet that lodged between his eyes. He died unable to comprehend the fate that had befallen him.

Free from the now deceased Sheriff's grasp, Billy came running towards me, he grabbed hold of me violently, and in my weakened state, nearly knocked me to the floor.

"It's about humanity being created in God's image, wasn't it?" I asked. "You prefer them being in _your_ image."

"Would that be so wrong?" Gabriel asked. "Why would humanity choose a god that has abandoned them? He's allowed them to be led to the slaughter and you tell me they would rather choose death over freewill?"

"So you're a god now."

"Don't presume to understand me, reaper," the angel retorted. "What I've done here will be repeated around the world. You talk of freewill, as if it's some grand ideological victory, that every man, woman and child on this world should be afforded."

"It's not perfect, but it's a start."

"You're right," he replied. "It's _not_ perfect... but I can be the one to perfect it! Don't you see, Horace? I was put on this earth for a reason... one which I will continue to uphold long after your bones are dust in the ground. I've cleansed these people of their sins... and for that they will worship me."

"With no freewill, what would be the worth of that worship?" I asked. "Take away a man's virtues, good or bad, and you take away his very essence. I'm not often in agreement with your God, but I'd say that was something we'd agree on."

Gabriel stared at me with unbridled rage. I could feel his gaze upon me, fixed and unmoving, as if he was trying to set me ablaze with his mind.

"You're as strong as what, ten men?" the angel asked after a minute of silence.

"...More or less."

"I'm as powerful as a _thousand_ men," he continued, "I'm not just another angel... I'm _the_ angel... and I'm going to lift humanity far above its station and see them through the darkness that's coming."

"You and every other conqueror to ever walk the face of the earth," I said. "The thing about conquerors, though, is that someone always comes along to triumph over them."

"And you think you're that person?" Gabriel said contemptuously. "Don't _ever_ think you can stop me."

"Maybe I can't stop you," I replied, my revolver once again pointed towards Gabriel and his virgin sacrifice. "Maybe I'll never be able to, but I know someone who can."

I raised my gun above both the angel and shimmering cross, I could see Gabriel's eyes widen when he realized what I was attempting, but before he could stop me, I pulled the trigger."

"What have you done?" Gabriel screamed as dust floated down through a bright ray of sunlight, from the tiniest of holes directly above him. "I would've shown you the truth about your past! You'll continue to be an unknowing pawn in the Devil's plan! Without me... you'll be nothing!"

"I'll take that chance," I said. "I have to look out for this boy because nobody else, man or angel will."

The light intensified, energized by the glowing cross until it enveloped the entire church. Then, suddenly, the cross exploded scattering dust and debris across the room. The girl nailed to it crumpled to the ground

"I'll have your head for this!" Gabriel cried. "You'll burn in Hell for this!"

He moved with superhuman speed and agility, his body becoming a blur as he sped forward me. He was inescapable.

"Burn!" the angel screamed as his hand gripped my face. His nails dug deep and straight to the bone, carving furrows from my right temple to the side of my chin. "Smolder like the mongrel you are!"

I winced in agony as my wound erupted in a fire unlike any other, blue and ice cold to the touch. I dropped to my knees, bound down by a power beyond my control, and begged, for the first time in my life, for a quick death.

In what I appeared to be my final moment, Gabriel's fingers recoiled from my face as a blast lifted him. I could barely see from the blood in my eyes, but what I did see, would haunt me for the rest of my days.

He was more helpless than I ever imagined. He flew backwards and high into the air, siphoned of his power and struggling to move. His arms and legs were outstretched, as if the very air around him was pulling him apart.

Gabriel wasn't a god, even he had his limits in the eyes of his lord who could end wars, cure plagues, or obliterate the denizens of Hell with but a single thought. Yet he chose to abandon his creations and allow them to find their own way in life, whether it be salvation or damnation. Perhaps, that was truly the meaning of freewill. Whatever it was, it was more complex than either the falling angel or I would ever truly understand.

"Help me," Gabriel cried. "You... you _need_ me, Horace... Horace... Horace!"

He was torn asunder by the power of his lord, bursting into thousands of small embers that were sucked back up through the small hole in the roof my bullet had made.

I crumpled to the ground, a smile stretched across my face and all too sure I was going to die. At least it was with honor and a promise kept

Billy clung on tightly and sobbed uncontrollably. He had seen more than any child should, things I didn't have to witness until I was older and more mentally prepared.

If it was all so easy for his almighty god, why had he waited to intervene, to suit his higher purpose? It was both awe inspiring and horrific, that a being could wield that much power and choose not to use it to help the plights of man. Not a particularly loving god, if you ask me, and if he was, then he moved in a far too complex pattern than I was able to decipher.

As quickly as the brilliant light had engulfed the church in its cleansing aura, it subsided and the darkness crept back. When the blinding pain fled my body, I picked myself up and clutched at what I expected to be the charred remains of my face. I was shocked to find my wounds healed with only scars remaining, five in number and stretching down the right side of my face.

He could've healed me completely, yet he chose to give me a reminder of the ordeal that would last a lifetime, one more sinister than it first appeared, that his power was supreme and not to be trifled with.

For as much as I wanted to hate the fallen angel, I couldn't, I might not have agreed with his methods, but I couldn't find fault in his convictions. The monsters and creatures of the night were growing in number and threatening to take back what they claimed rightly belonged to them—the world of man. The angel's weren't on our side, and I just watched the only one I knew burned away.

"Goodbye, my misguided, old friend," I said, staring up at the ceiling. "You were right about one thing, I don't have of the answers but I know a demon that does, one that I must find. I guess I have you to thank for that, Gabriel... even in your death the fight will go on, I can assure you of that."
**Chapter Sixteen**

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

You Might Not Like the Answer

I couldn't bring myself to accept what had happened. I wanted to count today as a victory, but an angel had fallen, another lost warrior in the fight for our right to live in this realm—no matter how misbegotten his views had become.

I combed my fingers through Billy's hair, and told him that everything was going to be okay. He looked up at me as if to tell me that he wasn't having any of it. I knew that was the one thing no man was guaranteed, and he knew better than to believe a single word of it.

Something was approaching from the confessional but with Gabriel and the glowing cross destroyed, I didn't know what to expect. "Stay back, boy," I said; pushing Billy behind me, "I don't know what's coming through there... and I can't protect you properly if you don't get behind me."

A man emerged; it was Billy's father, covered in a thick layer of grime and barely able to stand.

"Don't look," I said, turning around and dropping to a knee to face the young boy. "I need you to keep your head down, and whatever you do, don't look up no matter what you hear."

Billy looked back at me, blinking rapidly as he no doubt tried to interpret the sights he'd seen today. I had traveled the world, seen sights no man should ever lay eyes on, and what I'd seen today was something not meant for human eyes. Something we'd never understand, and probably for the best.

I left Billy, hunkered down behind some of the debris and approached his father. I wasn't worried about the boy, or my own wellbeing, but of what I'd do to the father.

"My boy," Mr. Godwin croaked. "Is my b-boy safe?"

"He's safe," I said, "Billy's quite the survivor, no thanks to his old man. A kid like that will do all right in the world, whether he's with his pa or not. I told you before to give me one good reason to let you live... now I want your answer."

"I don't d-deserve his forgiveness," he said. "He ran from me... both my children... they fled when they realized what was h-happening to the town. They said it was changing... for the worse...like the Sheriff. At first I didn't want to believe them... thinking it to be n-nothing but silly superstition. I soon found out that I was wrong—."

A coughing fit brought Mr. Godwin to a halt; he clasped his chest as he grimaced. After a minute or two, he steadied himself and tried to continue the conversation.

"They rounded us up," he said. "He infected us. The first stage... that's what the Sheriff called it. He said that it'd take our worries away. For those that failed to embrace this there was always the second stage—."

The coughing started up and soon Mr. Godwin was heaving uncontrollably, black corrosive bile poured from his lips. It singed the floorboards, sending smoke swirling up into the air.

"I'll be damned," I muttered in disbelief as I watched the bile seep through the cracks of wood. He was rejecting the infection.

"When you brought the boy home I could barely recognize him through the haze," Mr. Godwin said. "The Sheriff took my boy... my only son... how could I just let that happen?"

"You could've fought."

"I'm weak... selfish... contemptible... a man who knows his limits lives longer... isn't that right?"

His voice trailed off as Billy approached the virgin sacrifice that Gabriel had nailed to the now crumbled cross. He ran his fingers through her hair, sobbing quietly, still refusing to speak.

"I-I don't believe it," Mr. Godwin blubbered. "Selena... my daughter... is that you?"

The girl was lying on the floor still unconscious from her ordeal. Billy nodded his head in agreement as he wiped tears from his eyes.

"She fled in the night with Billy and a dozen others," he said in somber reflection. "They tried to get me to come but I was just a scared man... no one ever returned... I thought I lost them both. My god, I'm so sorry. I'm so pitiful... please... just don't kill me."

I thought about his request, debated with pistol in hand; whether I should end it all now or let him wallow in his own misdeeds and shortcomings.

"My wife died in childbirth," Mr. Godwin sobbed. "I resented the boy... I'd only loved one person... and he took her from me. It didn't matter if it was his fault or not."

"Shut up! No child's better off without his father," I said with thoughts of my own childhood. "When the boy's ready, he'll come to you, and when he does you'd better be willing to lay down your life for him."

I holstered my weapon and looked back towards Billy, who was now standing overtops his sister and staring back at the two of us. I rose to my feet to comfort him, but realized it wasn't me he needed by his side. He had his family back, no matter how fragile it may be.

"Get help" I said to the boy's father, "You might not deserve them... but maybe one day you will."

* * * * * *

I kicked down what was left of doors and exited the church. Dawn was spreading across the valley and the air was fresh. Townspeople stumbled from their homes and into the street, shaking their heads, trying to piece together the missing fragments in their minds. More than that, however, I saw the glimmer of hope in their eyes, the dark haze that had taken over them was gone.

The bartender at the tavern was apologetic for his actions and drinking heavily. A reaper doesn't need to look far for enemies, so I accepted his peace offerings eagerly and purchased supplies for the road.

At the stables Betsy greeted me enthusiastically as I packed the wares I'd purchased and led her into the street. I looked towards the Sheriff office, where I had taken down the two thugs. They had been tended to, their bodies wrapped in sheets and lying by the side of the road. There wasn't any question these people had been through a kind of hell, and while they seemed to regret their losses, they also accepted it as penance for their unholy union.

I still didn't have a clue as to what Gabriel had intended for these people, but I feared that I would soon find out firsthand. He mentioned a war... well no one in the world knew how to wage war like the reapers. I'd round up as many of my kind as I could find, hunt down the Abaddon and then go after those who started this eternal crusade. They may have started it, but we'd finish it, or die trying.

"Excuse me, Mr. McKidrict," said a subdued voice behind me. "I know that I'm the last man you'd want to talk to before leavin', but Billy won't stop talkin' about saying goodbye to you."

"Y-yeah, I've got something I'd like to say to him too."" I said, turning around to face the boy's father. I was flustered, not one for goodbyes. But I wouldn't tell the boy lies.

"I-I wanted to thank you, M-Mr. McKidrict," Billy said tugging at my duster. "You've saved me and my f-family."

The boy hadn't spoken more than a few words since I'd first met him. He'd found his voice, maybe he'd find some peace and happiness.

"It was not I who saved them," I said softly. "Without you to guide me to the tunnels we never would've made it this far."

"What about the old man?" Billy asked. "I n-never got to thank him; he did so much for me."

"He knew, I believe it was one of the only things he still _did_ know to be true." I replied.

I cupped the boy's face tenderly and stroked his hair. He would grow into a fine young man with what he had and move on from there. That's all anyone could really do when faced with the impossible. Keep on truckin', like my father used to say.

"He had a name," Billy said, "The old man, I mean."

"Yes, I'd imagine he did," I said.

"No... I m-mean I knew his name," he answered. "He still remembered it by the time we arrived at the creatures den."

"What was it?"

"His n-name was Samuel Anderson," said the young boy.

"Well, then I guess I owe a lot to Mr. Anderson," I replied. "He used what little life he still had in him to make sure we got through this."

"Can I ask you something?" I asked, taking off my Stetson and letting the warm breeze wash over me. "How did you and your sister become separated on that night you fled Janestown?"

"I-It happened all so fast," Billy faltered over the words.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."

"No... it's not that, sir," said Billy after a moment. "We must've gotten ten miles from town before _it_ came... with sweeping black wings that loomed above us."

Billy paused again to find the strength necessary to keep on going.

"We scattered like ants," he continued. "Selena tossed me to the ground, where I prayed for our safety. I didn't pray hard enough, though... b-because when I looked up, the monster had flown off with her... I... I never thought I would see her again."

The boy was referring to the Abaddon, straight from Hell and ruler of all he surveyed. The beast was intelligent and mean with a hunger that could never be quenched. He could've slain them all, shredded them with his claws, yet he chose to lead them as hostages for me to find and drop the virgin with Gabriel to be used for some purpose. Were they working together? Was their another layer of this puzzle yet to be solved?

"Then the others came," Billy continued. "The ones wrapped in black and shrouded in darkness. They took us away... I never even had time to grieve for my sister."

"You've got to be strong, Billy." I said, wiping the tears from Billy's cheeks. "Your sister needs you to help keep your father on the straight and narrow. Can you do that?"

Billy blushed and nodded his head in agreement. He was going to do a lot of growing up in the coming months. I wanted to give him something to remember me and reward his survival in the face of such horror. Hopefully, it would lift his spirits.

I pulled out my right hand and flashed six silver coins in the palm of my hand. I waved my hand around in a display of showmanship and dazzled the boy with blur of pink and glistening silver.

"See these?" I asked, holding out the coins. "Now watch this."

I launched the coins high into the sky and quickly drew my revolver. I took a second to steady my aim and fired off all six rounds in rapid succession. I didn't need to wait to see the results; the sound was more than I needed.

Billy stood in awe as the coins came raining down around him, each one with a perfectly round hole in the center. He happily picked them all up.

"These are a reaper's calling card," I said, exaggerating the truth. "They are yours to do with you as you please but they are worth their weight in gold as a friend of mine so keep them safe."

"Am I e-ever going to see you again?" Billy asked with dewy eyes.

"Not if I do my job," I admitted, standing up and dusting off. "My path is not meant for others to follow. It's a lonely journey and few are meant to tread upon it. I have a hard road ahead of me... and I need everyone back home to do their part and that includes you, Billy Godwin. More than you'll ever know."

I turned and mounted Betsy and urged her on, anywhere but here. It wasn't that I disliked Janestown, or the townsfolk that had tried to skewer me alive. It was that I liked Billy too much.

Betsy and I trotted through the town; seeing the townspeople give a respectful nod before they went about their business. I knew the look well. They were frightened by me, they didn't truly understand, even if they wanted to.

That was all right, though, because I _was_ a reaper, cultivated for a purpose; and that purpose would rain an inferno down upon my enemies. I'd get to the truth, one way or the other, and when I got there—well, there'd be hell to pay.

"Thanks, Samuel Anderson," I muttered under my own breath. "It might've killed you, but you made a decent man out of me. Now I'm the one who's forever in your debt."

"Yes, reaper" whispered the breeze in my ears, "you are."

The End

The Story Continues in Duster and a Gun: The Ties That Bind

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Gregory Blackman's Collection

*Released or Coming Soon*

The Reaper Series:

Duster and a Gun:

Reaper

The Ties That Bind

New Beginnings

Revelation

Reaper's Dogma

The Kingdoms of Ash Series:

The Unseen

Blood Ties

Tip the Scales

