The Gunslinger: Showdown In Shefton: Blue Scorpion Gang

THE GUNSLINGER (OOC)

Showdown in Shefton: Blue Scorpion Gang
Starring: The Priest, The Gunslinger, The Ranger, The Drifter, and The Arbiter

"You're alone now," Taylor said as he wiped blood of his most recent kill off of his bayonet with his cassock sleeve. The dark night obscured his figure, his cassock blending into the darkness; Rojo Castillo could only see him from the indirect light from his car's headlights. The priest slowly walked toward the leader and last surviving member of the Red Wasps, bayonet in his right hand, and empty rifle slung over his back. "I've shot them. I've stabbed them. I've picked them off from a thousand yards away. They're not here to help you. You're all alone."

"You're the one who's been offing all my men?" Rojo said in disbelief as he one-handedly pointed a pistol at Taylor and backed towards his car. "What kind of priest are you?"

Taylor did not answer the question. "I've counted how many rounds you've fired. That auto-loader can carry eight rounds. You've shot off five. You now have three chances to kill me. Can you do it?"

Rojo met the challenge by shooting the bayonet out of Taylor's hand. "That's a good start," Taylor said as the bayonet thudded into the ground. "But now you only have two."

"Shut the hell up!" yelled the gangster. He fired another round at Taylor, but Taylor was quick to duck and run towards Rojo, dodging the bullet. By the time Rojo was ready to use his last cartridge, Taylor had a right hand on his neck and the other on his wrist, pushing the gun away. The priest clenched the wrist until Rojo reflexively shot the last round, completely emptying the gun.

There was a pause before Taylor leaned in and whispered, "You're empty."

Taylor threw Rojo to the ground and retrieved the rifle from his back. Gripping it from the forestock, he pulled his hands behind his back and prepared to swing the buttstock at Rojo.

"Wait!" shouted Rojo. "You don't want to do this! My brother will come and kill you, kill your whole town!"

Taylor ignored Rojo's pleas and swung.

Five months later...

Taylor’s grip on his lever-action shotgun tightened as beads of sweat formed on his brow and flowed down his face until reaching his chin, where they dripped one by one onto the wooden floor of what was once the Shefton General Store. He glanced to his right; he could see Brother Michael Smoke's revolver tremble as the monk peered out the broken window of the store.

"What do you see?" asked Taylor in a whisper. Michael's eyes darted from outside the store to the priest, then back again.

"Only three of them...all armed with shotguns...standing in front of the chapel. One's holding a...I think a potato sack," answered Michael, his voice trembling more than his gun. "I think we can take them out," he added as he started to move to a better position to attack.

"No!" said Taylor with emotion, although he still kept relatively quiet. "Three is too small for a raiding party. They're here for something else. Let's see what they do."

Once he said that, one of the men outside started to yell. "Come out here, ya sick excuse fer a preacher!" he exclaimed loudly. "Git what's comin' to ya!"

A thwacking noise was heard, followed by, "Shut the hell up, Mick. He ain't dumb enough to be in there. He's probably hidin' somewhere else. Besides, we're just here to deliver this." After a solid thud, the same voice said, "We're done. Let's get back to Azul."

"What do you see?" Taylor asked again when he heard shuffling and movement.

"One of them dropped the sack at the entrance of the chapel," said Michael. "They're mounting their horses and a dune buggy...and..."

To finish the sentence for him, galloping and engine noises were clearly audible, and after a moment, the noises became quieter and quieter until they could not be heard any longer. Taylor sighed deeply and wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his cassock. "No bullets flying this time," he said without energy. "Sister Adele will be happy that there will be no wound dressing today."

Michael nodded and stood. "I'll go check what they dropped," he said as he headed for the store's door.

"No, don't," Taylor ordered. After he stood and brushed off some of the dust from his cassock, he explained, "It might be a trap of some sort. We'll wait a short while, then I'll deal with it. Go check the area to make sure they're gone. If not, get back here as soon as possible, and quietly too."

After Michael said a short, "All right," he left the store and ran off. Taylor slowly followed him outside and breathed in deeply when the hot sun hit his face. He grabbed a flask from within his cassock; naturally, it had no alcohol in it, but rather just dirty water. However, Taylor did not complain about the quality, as the town well never provided much water in the first place, and ever since the attacks started, water rations were thin. A half-full flask was more than everything he could ask for.

When he was done taking a swig, he returned the water to within his cassock, and then looked at the sack. Whatever was inside was looked solid, though it had no visible shape from the outside. It did not look like a bomb to Taylor, but he did not want to take chances. It may not have been the style of the Blue Scorpions to use traps, but Azul had already lost five horses, a bike, and two men during raids, so Taylor believed it was possible that he was trying something different.

A woman came out of the saloon, or at least what was left of the saloon, with a small girl and young teenage boy with a rifle following closely behind. She approached Taylor and said, "No fighting this week? That's a nice break for once. What's in the bag?"

Taylor glanced at the woman before scratching his chin and answering, "Don't know, Marianne. I think it's been too long to be a timed trap, but it still might be dangerous."

The woman groaned. "Well, it's not a gift, we know that," she said as she ruffled the girl's hair. "I presume that there's no news on Bradley?"

Taylor shook his head. "I'm sorry, but it's been too soon since your husband left to get help. He wouldn't have been able to reach Ponera yet in this short time. We'll be sending out Jonah tomorrow though, so don't worry, he won't be alone."

Michael then returned to the street through an alleyway and came up to Taylor. "All clear, Father," he said in a more relaxed tone than before.

"Get me a long pole, like a broomstick or something," Taylor ordered. "I want to check the bag." Michael was quick to comply, diving into the general store and coming out with a rod. He tossed it to Taylor, who caught it in his left hand.

Taylor laid down his shotgun on the ground and said, "You should stand back." Michael stood against the outer wall of the general store, and Marianne stepped back, holding her children close to her. The priest held out the pole and gently prodded the sack. When nothing happened, he pushed it to the side. Again, nothing happened, and Taylor tossed away the pole and approached the sack.

"It's probably safe," he said. He kneeled down and as he opened the sack, he began to say, "Though I am curious what our friends left us in this..." His voice trailed off when he saw what was inside. His head snapped towards Marianne and said, "I need to speak to you. Come into the chapel."

The woman gently ushered her smaller child towards Michael, who accepted the girl. Taylor closed the sack and laid it down before walking through the chapel entrance; Marianne followed. For a moment, the town was quiet, except for the sound of the wind rubbing dust and sand together. Then there was a scream from inside the chapel, and the doors burst open and the woman flew out. Several people quickly leaned outside windows and doorways holding guns, expecting an attack, only to see Marianne run straight for her daughter, whom she hugged tightly as tears poured from her eyes.

Michael looked at the woman for a few seconds before running up to Taylor, who was exiting the chapel. "Father, was that-"

"It was a foot, Michael," Taylor said in a tired, low volume voice. "Bradley's foot, boot and all." He winced as if he had been injured and massaged his temple for a minute, and then took in a deep breath and muttered a quick prayer once he recovered.

The boy stared at Taylor accusingly, his face reddening with anger until his voice exploded in anger. "This is all your fault! They want you! Not us!" He lifted his rifle and pointed it at Taylor's chest, the weapon shaking uncontrollably with the boy's emotion.

Knowing that Taylor would not defend himself, Michael spoke in his place. "Do you think that they would stop if they had Father Taylor? They'd tear this place asunder, and the only difference between then and now is that we would have lost the best shot in town."

Marianne, still crying, reached over and pulled the rifle downward. The boy did not resist and let go of the gun, and the mother placed it on the ground. However, the son kept his glare strong as he stomped away toward the saloon.

"The Scorpions must have a tight patrol around the town. The mountains in the north are probably the only safe area outside the town limits," Taylor said after a long and awkward pause. "That explains why we haven't gotten any visitors other than the gang members. Go tell Jonah that it's not safe for him to leave," instructed Taylor as he picked up the sack. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the mountains checking the traps...and burying this." The priest reached inside and retrieved a photograph which he handed to Michael. "That was nailed to it. Give it to Marianne when she calms down."

Michael looked at the photograph and saw that it was a family picture of Marianne, Bradley, and their children, which Bradley had taken it with him when he left for Ponera city. When Michael looked up, the priest was crying as he walked away, his tears dotting the dusty road.

Michael was squatting in the back of the general store, counting the number of cans of food. The small town had about fifty people, and the food had to be carefully managed. However, unlike the water, Father Taylor and some of the other men in town were able to hunt in the mountains, making the food supply larger than it seemed just by looking at the cans and jars at which Michael was staring. The rocky ground was poor for any plants that could be harvested for human consumption other than the occasional bush, but plenty of mammalian animals lived there.

Michael yawned and rubbed his temple. The food, not including the meats currently being preserved, if eaten slowly, would last for only two weeks. The meat that had been caught so far that was being kept in the smoking house could give them a few more days, and an optimist might give them another week if the hunting went well. "Okay, counting is done," Michael said, slightly exasperated.

"Finally," said a man standing behind the monk. "This damn countin' was takin' way to lon'. Why the hell ya need a guard jus' to watch ya stare at God damn chili 'n beans?"

Michael stood and brushed dust off of his tunic, ignoring his partner's comments. "Well then, Jacobson," he said. "Let's get back to the chapel; I need to write everything down."

As he started for the door, he heard the sound of a horse's hooves walking on the dirt road outside. "Jacobson," Michael said quietly, "We only have one horse now, and it should be kept behind the feed store. This is why you're here."

Jacobson grabbed a double-barreled break-action shotgun--one of the only shotguns in town--that was leaning against the wall. and walked over to Michael, who had moved to the window to see what was outside. "Okay, just one, although pretty well armed," Michael said, pulling out his revolver and cocking it. Remembering Taylor's comment in the situation earlier that day, he added, "He's not here to attack. I'm going to talk to him; you watch my back in case something goes wrong."

The guard nodded, and Michael stood and opened the door, revolver pointing upward in the air, ready to be used. "Hey there, friend," called Michael as he walked toward Zieg, with an air of contempt on the word "friend". "Some of your friends already made a visit today. Loved the gift, but I'm afraid that we just can't accept anymore of Azul's hospitality today." Jacobson stayed in the doorway, keeping his eyes on the horseman, his shotgun pointing towards the ground.

Meanwhile, Father Taylor was opening the last trap that had caught something. Three rabbits was less than the best of catches, but food in any quantity was a godsend. He tied up the rabbit with the others and started walking back to the town.