Shot in the Dark

By A.N. Drea

The west was wilder than anyone thought.

Killian McBride is a bounty hunter with a dark secret, and an even darker past. In a country rife with conflict, he wanders the frontier in search of atonement and, perhaps, redemption.
But a dark power is rising in the west, someone that may have the answers he's sought for decades.
When his past and present collide, the fate of his soul will be decided by a shot in the dark.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.N. Drea
• Release date: May 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476155913

A.N. Drea

I like to write fantasy and supernatural themes with unexpected twists, and storylines that are as unique as possible. Some of my writing influences are: Jim Butcher, Kage Baker, C.S. Friedman, Jeff Lindsay, and Christopher Moore. I love all types of sci-fi, historical, and fantasy movies, and I want my readers to be drawn in to my books as if they were watching a movie in their heads.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental, and would be cool.

Copyright © 2012 Andrea Garcia. All rights reserved.

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Shot in the Dark

A Killian McBride Novel

A.N. Drea

CHAPTER ONE

The mid-morning June sun beat mercilessly through the thin cotton of her late brother’s old shirt as Katie urged her horse on toward the town of Two Rivers. It hadn’t rained in nearly three months, putting even more pressure on the already strained finances of her father’s cattle ranch. They couldn’t even afford to pay the ranch hands any longer, which was why she had been forced to go alone into the town now controlled by her brother’s murderers.

A bitter taste filled her mouth at the thought, and she spat viciously at the ground to clear it. She shook her head; whiskey and laudanum were the only things that could keep her father comfortable as his health finally failed him bit by torturous bit. She was the only one left who could get them, and she would be damned if she let her father suffer because she was too cowardly to stand up to some Flock thugs. She fingered the large Bowie knife in its sheath at her back and smiled. Just let them try something, she thought.

Despite all her internal bravado, she found herself looking about nervously as she rode into town. Once, it had been a fairly nice place, with a school, a church, all manner of shops and supplies. Now, the place stank of degradation and decay. Gambling halls and saloons lined up one after the other; whores on balconies making catcalls and lewd suggestions that made Katie blush and look away. She halted her horse in front of Stewarts Drug, pulled her brothers hat down lower over her face and made sure her long red hair was safely tucked up under it. Dismounting, she tied the reins to the hitching post and quickly scurried inside. She hoped that, dressed as she was in her brothers clothes, any of the Flock hanging around would think she was just a young man and leave her alone.

She paid for the laudanum making as little eye contact as possible and packed it into a saddlebag. Pulling her hat down again and shoving her hands in the pockets of her overalls, she hurried across the street to one of the many saloons. A wagon sat outside pulled by two mules, an oddly well-dressed and bored looking young Negro man in the driver’s seat. She hurried past and into the dark, smoky confines of the saloon.

Inside she had to pause to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. The place was relatively empty, a few drunks hunched over their drinks, three other patrons playing cards in a back corner, and one man sitting alone at a table near the bar. His long legs ended in boots edged with wicked looking spurs, and were propped on an opposite chair. His hair was long and black and hung loose about his broad shoulders, so that she might have thought him and Indian. Propped next to him was a staff made of lacquered wood as thick as the handle of a hammer. It looked to come up to about his chest, capped on both ends with studded brass. His wide brimmed hat was pulled low over his face, and he wore an oilcloth duster the color of, well, dust. Or, that could have just been actual dust, she mused. He looked travel-worn, weary and asleep.

She was so busy eyeing the stranger that she walked straight into the back of Bull Murphy, who was sitting at the bar. Phineas Bull Murphy slowly turned his large grizzled head around to glare at her, looking like a bear just wakened from hibernation. He was easily three times her size, with a head of wild black hair that just sort of grew down and became his wild, unkempt beard. Twin six shooters rested on a belt just under his enormous gut, and a shotgun rode in a holster on his back. Katie held her breath and ducked her head as his bloodshot eyes focused on her.

Watch it, kid. He slurred finally, muttering Mspill muh drink. and turned back to the bar. Now that she looked, she saw that Murphy had five of his little posse with him that morning. Her breath caught in her throat as she walked up to the bartender as casually as she could, but before she could get a word out, Bull Murphy bellowed, Katie! Katie Black, that’s who you are! He rose and looked straight at her, a sickening grin beneath his untamed beard. As I live and breathe. Look boys! he began thumping his friends hard enough to rouse them from their stupor or, in a couple cases, knock them off their stools. It’s Virgil Black’s little girl. He stalked toward her, and she backed up until she hit the wall next to the bar. Why you dressed like that, Katie girl? Tryin’ to slip by me without even a ‘how do you do’? How do you like that, boys? A big, meaty hand planted itself on the wall to the left of her, cutting off any escape.

That’s real rude, Bull. Said one of his posse, a tall lanky man with rat-like features, You’d think she was brought up better’n that.

Murphy leaned in close, hot, rank breath in her face, Your daddy still owes The Shepherd a lot of money. Which means he owes me a lot of money. Now, if he ain’t got the funds to pay… His left hand trailed down the front of her overalls and grabbed her right breast, squeezing painfully and slamming her back against the wall. I can think of a much more pleasant way to settle up. He leaned in to kiss her.

She pulled the Bowie knife from its concealed sheath and pressed its tip against his crotch. He froze, his eyes on hers inches away. She bared her teeth in a smile, You’ll not be the first bull I’ve gelded, Murphy. She said, Unhand me now, or I will unman you.

Murphy’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then the wolfish grin returned and he pressed his foul, hairy mouth to hers. She swept upward with the blade, but it stuck in something metal between his legs. Panicked, she tried to duck under him to escape, but his huge paws pinned her arms to her sides, lifting her off her feet against the wall. He pressed himself into her, the bulging metal at his crotch grinding painfully against her pubic bone. He pulled back, still pinning her without apparent effort despite her frantic kicks. See? That’s what a real man feels like. He growled, pinning her legs apart with his own, But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You prissy little bitch.

Boo! Boooooo! called the man with the staff. One hand cupped to his mouth, his hat still too low to see his face, he was walking toward them weaving drunkenly, his staff, apparently, the only thing holding him up.

Everyone stopped cold, staring at him.

This is the worst floor show I’ve ever seen! Declared the stranger, stumbling over a chair, I mean, there’s no storyline! What’s your motivation? He stumbled over to lean on Bull and gestured with his staff, And the dialogue is completely inane.

She didn’t even see the staff come apart. One moment he was drunkenly leaning on Murphy, the next he had two swords with long hilts of the same wood capped in brass, and Bull Murphy’s headless body was spurting rhythmic jets of blood as it fell to the floor.

The stranger moved like lightning, and was behind her, covering her eyes. She screamed and fought him. He whispered in her ear, Shh. I’ll get you out. Trust me. She heard loud popping sounds, then men screaming, and gunfire. He rolled with her over the bar and lay on top of her for a moment, her face to the floor. Stay here. He whispered, Cover your head until I come get you. Understand?

She nodded, shaking.

Do you understand!? He demanded, as if she hadn’t acknowledged him at all.

Yes! she whispered harshly, more because he was whispering than because she knew what was going on.

He leapt over the bar in one smooth motion, swords flashing in the dim light. She heard more gunfire, saw the flashes. They were panicked, random shots. She heard cries of Where is he? I can’t see!" spurs jingling madly, and the sound of blades cutting air. Thumping. Gurgling. Silence.

The stranger’s dark form appeared suddenly above her, startling her into a scream.

It’s alright. His face in shadow, his silhouetted hand held out to her, she thought for one crazy moment that she was dead, and he was an angel come to take her away. She shook herself and took his offered hand.

The saloon was a scene from a charnel house. Dead men, their throats laid open, a couple of them in pieces, the walls awash in blood. The stranger took a hold of her upper arm and called sharply, Jess!

The young black man from the wagon outside trotted in, looked around and whistled.

Nice work, Boss. He said, I see those flash poppers worked like a charm. Just to be clear, the plan was to kill them all in one giant bloodbath on a random impulse, right? He cocked his head and looked at the stranger, Were you drinking?

The stranger worked his jaw in annoyance, cleared his throat and shoved Katie forward.

Ooh, there was a girl. said Jess with feigned understanding, I suppose that’s all right then.

The stranger sighed, shook his head then pounded the heavy metal end of his staff on the wooden floor, Get anyone I shouldn't have? He asked.

The other man took a quick trot around the defiled saloon, looking behind and under things, None, man. Couple of guys ran out of here like the devil was chasing them, but all the dead look like Flock. He said, grinning, Good on you! Saved a damsel in distress, too. He eyed her critically, If she is, in fact, either of those things.

The stranger moaned softly, leaning heavily on his staff. He swayed and would have fallen if Katie had not placed herself under his free arm. She noticed he was bleeding through his coat.

Kil? You get hit? Jess asked,