A Gate over New Dakota ---STEEMIT EXCLUSIVE SERIES--- PART 6.3

6.3

    An old west tale... in space.    

 

     He heard the crack right before the CE stopped and stayed behind while he kept going flying head over heels away from the vehicle.

     He saw the red rocks rush up to meet him and tasted blood as he hit them face first.  

     His arms were working, the old explosions leaving him. He picked himself up, wiped blood from his lips. 

     One leg gave out, a surge of pain heading up into his spine. He cried out as he fell back onto his arms. 

     What the hell had happened?

     Behind him he could see his old CE. He’d had it for at least a decade. It was burning, smoke billowing from its chassis. It tried to move, tried to make its way over to its master. He heard a little pop and it stopped, powering down. 

     Dammit, the goddamn dreams, they hadn’t haunted him for years. He thought he’d left them behind, but here they were again. Doc Hemingway, that fucker had triggered them. 

     He’d have to go back to Cadaveras, was going to have to drag the CE back there for repairs. 

     Then he saw the first one. He came out from behind a small rise, rifle in hand, a slight trail of smoke trailing from its barrel. He wore a dark duster, covered in the sand of the desert. Another appeared from behind another rise, another from behind a boulder, another out of a tree. He counted nineteen of them, nineteen to kill one CE.

     They stood still, watching him. The original, the one with the smoking rifle turned back, lowering the weapon, waiting for one more. 

     The last one, the one that would kill him seemed to materialize out of the very heat of the plains. He came forward slowly, the heat rippling all about his silhouette. 

     Oscar Anderson panicked, feeling for his rifle, remembering he’d left it behind in his madness. 

     He tried to get up again, pushed himself up, willed his legs to stand. 

     They left him and the ground rushed up to meet him. 

     He saw the man’s eyes as he came closer. They were different colors. They smiled under that black hat. 

     Then the fellow blew Oscar Anderson’s brains out.