Or Cassidy Bullock’s Lament

Snap, the dry branch broke like a sledgehammer on a bone. Out of a nightmare filled deep sleep Cassidy awoke with gun in hand. To the dark scrub desert light azure eyes flew. Shadows shifted. Dark figures prowled just beyond the dying campfire’s light, and strange were silhouettes. Past the smell of bourbon upon his heavy breath, a low tang of rot and blood hung. It was a carrion smell, wolf perhaps, his mind proffered with a wolfish grin of stony resolve. A low laughter seeped from the darkness; flesh of the bounty hunter pebbled in the warm night. Madness of the good cheer was ravenous.

“Come, then, to your end,” Cassidy growled, “I have a cure for crazy.”

To this oath, a chorus of insane chittering became a refrain. Eyes of hellfire red opened in the night, which cut tracers through the air. Others opened to glare. Unsteady light from low flames frolicked over fangs stained yellow and crimson. A roar of angry hunger rose from his left flank, and he turned. Though they were hard to see, his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. Gnarled fingers ended in claws, reached for a fresh meal. Flash of the revolver dazzled, and he saw the cadaverous horror, mouth open in starvation. The bullet struck true, heart obliterated, for the bounty hunter believed kills should be swift, merciful. Only ash struck him with a gust, man gone along with all clothes. Cassidy’s mind clamored at this, but well-trained hands and resolve took hold. Whatever he had been, he could ration it out later.

Others, emboldened by their fury, rushed from beyond the sanity of the fleeting wood’s flame. Devilish fire in their gaze left streaks across the air, as they fell upon Cassidy. In spite of the numbing horror, murderous hands went to the work, which they’ve grown accustomed. In barrel flash and boom of the revolver, four more of the ghoulish cadavers turned to black ash. All each left were tracers on the vision, quick to fade. Cassidy fanned the hammer with an ease that his besieged mind could never fathom; fast was death, and it came for the horrors.

He turned. Revolver ready to destroy, the last of the creatures knocked his gun hand away, shot wild. With a vicious laugh, the bull of a man lifted him from the ground. Flames of his eyes blazed like pitch tossed on a molten pyre. Down came the gun’s butt, spin liquid smooth, onto the squashed nose. Unbothered, he slammed Cassidy to the ground, teeth snapped at his throat. The bounty hunter stabbed him, blade sunk deep, but he only roared in hungry anger. Teeth bore in a wolfish grin; the bounty hunter slammed the blade into the large man’s ear.

The brute turned to ash, body crumbled atop him. Like the nightmare, in moments it seemed to be only alive in his memory. Eyes, blue as dawn over the desert, searched the night. “What is this?!” he scrambled to his feet, but only his horse looked at him now. “REAL,” he pointed the gun at shadows, “it was REAL!” There was a rational explanation, he insisted. Only black ash, the flecks of flesh was only a ghost upon the wind. The revolver shook, he licked his lips, but alone in the dark, there was only the frayed ends of sanity. No amount of alcohol could dash away the image of their hellfire eyes and crimson soaked fangs. He rubbed his eyes, as the tracers faded.

“HAVE AT ME,” challenged the bounty hunter. “YOU WANT BLOOD?!” his voice broke, eyes danced about the desert. Flames became a dervish; they moved, silky smooth, in a seductive sway. Eyes like molten flame burned. A fine leather cape swayed beyond the light, which was supple. Cassidy aimed, pulled the trigger, but there was a dry click.

“Have you gone mad?!” the man asked, indignant. “Are you the source of this fracas?” The well-dressed man tipped back his top hat to get a better look, as doctors studied the bounty hunter.

“Have you come to die?” Cassidy returned, but lowered the revolver. Tightness gripped his chest, and wondered if a nightmare had taken hold. Alcohol dulled the saturnine dreams, yet it was an inconstant cure.

“Well, no,” he considered, “I come, because of the noise. Some patients from Thorncrown Hospital escaped, and I feared the worst.” His brow creased with the dower words, yet he still smiled in a companionable way. “I’m Tiberiu Badescu, but I prefer you call me Huck, as my friends do.”

“Aren’t you chummy,” said Cassidy, but he sheathed the knife, which was clean. Eyes, a light azure, searched for the black ash, but the wind had carried it away, like the sun upon darkness.

“I try to be,” he looked at the doctors, “and though I’m no physician myself, I do head the hospital.” Back to Cassidy his chubby face turned, elaborate mustache like tusks, “And, I see you’ve have an unbalance of the humors. You’ve may have heard of Huck’s Snake Oil Liniment around these parts. It’s miraculous potion capable of much, in the way of restoration of one constitution.” He studied the bounty hunter, though his lip pulled up at the rough looks.

“I have,” Cassidy said, but it held a sour note, “one would believe it was handed down like mana from the heavens.”

“Indeed,” beamed Huck, “it is a miracle, a panacea.” He leaned forward, bulbous belly pulled the buttons of his waist coat. “The plight of the working man or woman is my upmost concern; such is the nature of the world to be carried on their shoulders.” He gripped the waistcoat with a smile, performative gentility.

Cassidy nodded, mind upon the shadows, “Out of the tears of the Cherubim—”

“And,” Huck held up a finger, “having said that, we can’t have a man whooping and hollering and shooting at the night. I can smell the alcohol on you!”

“I’m going nowhere.”

Huck pulled the gun, yet his face cramped, as if he touched something loathsome, “I would prefer you came willingly, but if we have to, we’ll shoot you in the leg, wing you, and drag you to the hospital. Barbarity of the act simply makes the heart positively quail.” Cassidy looked to the horse, and the rifle, but it was too far. “We only want to treat your malady,” Huck held up a hand, “but we don’t want you to hurt us.” The lie was spoken with such sincerity, even the bounty hunter failed to detect its false notes.