Forlorn Hope Western

[Booted Vulture]

I've been watching far too many Westerns recently. This is the result. Just a super short for now. Hopefully more of a story will come latter.



Forlorn Hope Western

One

There was a shape on the horizon. The three men at the edge of the town stared at it. They could only wonder if it was the caused by the hard alcohol they were in the process of consuming in large quantities, because the shape had appeared on the horizon, coming towards them. The three men, continued to stare at the inexplicable shape and drink, over the course of an hour, the shape began to enlarge itself, growing features out of the edges of its undefined blob-ness. It was the most interesting thing the three drunks had seen in a good long while.

As it turned out the shape was a man. He was walking erratically, even ignoring the limp in one leg, his path wandered back and forth, curving and looping along on its way towards town, towards civilisation.

The man’s features gradually resolved themselves. He was of medium height and build, had medium length hair that was a medium brown colour at the roots but had been bleached blonde by the beating rays of solar radiation; in fact if anymore of him had been described as medium, he would have been able to speak to the dead. Sunglasses covered his eyes and a wet bandanna was worn across his forehead. His long coat was splattered and stained with dust and sweat, a hefty pack was thrown over one shoulder.

He strode straight into town and looked around. The three men glanced at each other at the gazed again at the new comer as if disbelieving their own luck. They nodded to each other, casually shifting their hands and their stance. Suddenly their hands were filled with weaponry.

“Hey, little man,” growled the self appointed leader of the group, “Did you know you’ve got a pretty face?”

“Lucky me,” the newcomer’s voice was hoarse rattle as it issued from his dry cracked throat.

A Holograph appeared in the first man’s hand, despite the lack of sunburn and bleach adorning the holograph’s face, it was clearly the same man. Text scrolled over and under the man’s face. It read: J BAYLOR -WANTED- Dead Or Alive.

“It’s pretty enough to be worth twenty five thousand.”

The man, Baylor, sighed a deep sigh and shrugged his bag off of his shoulders.

“Look fellas, can we do this some other time? I ain’t having the best day. Engine fell out of my rent-a-car halfway here. Tell you what, point me to the nearest bar, I’ll buy us all a tall frosty one and we can sort this in the morning right?”

“Wrong!” said the Bounty Killer; his hand dropping to the automatic pistol strapped over his belly. His cronies were suddenly flanking him; one was cradling a pump-action shotgun in his hands, the other a long barrelled and oversized chromed pistol that looked like it had been bought solely because it had the word “Magnum” on the box.

Baylor shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” he said and casually swept his coat tails away from his hip. To the three men it seemed to cloth moved almost in slow motion; rippling away to reveal a low slung holster. A low slung holster that was filled by the deadliest looking handgun, they had ever seen. It was dark and glossy and seemed to taper down its length to a deadly point. They were transfixed by it, they stared at it so hard, they completely missed what Baylor was doing with his other hand.

“Gyah!” Choked the centre man, his hand slapping up against his neck, where a small hole had just been punched straight through his neck, from just under his jawline to out through his brain stew he collapsed; dead before he hit the ground. His men stared at him, eyes bulging at his apparently inexplicable demise.

Baylor plucked his handgun out of his holster, shifting his stance ever so slightly both arms coming up his right wrist resting on his left for stability. In a blink of an eye, he put three rounds into the shotgunner; two in the chest, one in the face as he fell. Instantly Baylor shifted his aim to the third Bounty Killer just as the man pulled the trigger of his magnum.

The gun made a tortured clanking sound as its action jammed.

Baylor smirked.

“Nice gun,” he said, with only the slightest hint of mockery, “A Selby Muntions 120-AutoMag? Lot’s of stopping power, but a gas operated handgun? In this dust? You were just asking for it to jam on you.”

The last surviving Bounty Killer, stared at Baylor, desperately working his slide, trying to clear the jam. He took in the man’s professional stance, the way his right hand was resting on his left wrist… because his left hand was filled with the silenced derringer that had dropped out of his sleeve when he distracted them with that business with his coat. Suckered them. He’d never even seen it, or heard the shot.

“You slick shit son of a bitch” growled the last Bounty Killer.

The shell popped out his hand gun, clearing the jam and chambering a fresh round. The Bounty Killer lifted his weapon.

“Don’t.” said Baylor, his pistol already aimed but the man lurched to the side, trying to dodge as he brought his heavy pistol to bear.

Three rounds from Baylor’s gun walked up his chest before he’d even half completed the move. The AutoMag threw up a great cloud of dust as hit the red splattered ground.

Lt. Johnathon ‘Jack’ Baylor, UPMC (Ret.) sighed.

If you guys are the best Bounty Killers around, I weep for the profession He thought, and then added to himself, And to think I just wanted a drink

[Shroom Man 777]

THE GOOD, THE DEAD, AND THE BAYLOR!

This is my fault for telling you to watch For A Few Dollars More, isn't it?

Anyway, that was a really nice atmospheric and charged piece, albeit short, but to the point and I do hope you continue Forlorn Hope Wester - JOHN BAYLOR: WANTED! The prose was very good, very nicely flowing (and free of typos ), and really man that was good. Nice writing, mangoes.

[Malchus]

It always starts out as something simple, like a need for a drink. But, alas, things always get a tad complicated.

Of course, those Bounty Killers were doomed the moment their quarry's last name turned out to be Baylor. It's multiversal law.