Bounties, Beasts, and Badlands

By D.W. Hitz

The western landscape holds awesome and spectacular secrets. Between prairies and mountains, deserts and canyons, strange things happen. These are five tales of the fantastic, from the old west to the dystopian future, that share a glimpse of what might be if land told all.

 

Featuring:
The Hattersfield Dilemma by B.K. Bass
When Samuel Shepherd and his crew hole up in the town of Hattersfield for the night, they don't expect to find a town plagued with a mystery. And when they start picking that mystery apart, they find more lurking in the darkness than monsters.

 

Creeper's Wreath by D.W. Hitz
When Malcolm escaped, he was running for his life. When he returns as a necromancer, it's to rescue his love and settle an old debt.

 

Sheriff of the Dead by Jodi Jensen
A desert town full of zombies, a Marshall bent on their destruction, and the Sheriff of the Dead, determined to fight for their right to exist. Only a few will find sanctuary in Demise.

 

Freedom's Bounty by Crystal L. Kirkham
Monster Bountyhunter, Ella Fitzgerald has tracked her latest target to a booming mining town in the wilds of the British Columbia mountains. When the trail goes cold, an odd stranger offers to help, and what they discover is more than either of them expected.

 

Red by Eric Lahti
Between the poison dust and the killer angels, Earth's days look numbered. There's just one person who might have a solution. They call her a witch, but in these dark days any chance for salvation is worth the risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fedowar Press, LLC
• Release date: Aug 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736686560

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Copyright

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Bounties, Beasts, and Badlands: Fantastic Tales of the Weird West

Copyright © 2021 Fedowar Press, LLC

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ISBN-13 (Digital): 978-1-7366865-6-0

ISBN-13 (Paperback): 978-1-7366865-7-7

ISBN-13 (Hardcover):   978-1-7366865-8-4

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Edited by D.W. Hitz

Cover Design by MiblArt

Interior Design by D.W. Hitz

Section break icon designed using resources from Nikita Golubev on Flaticon.com

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Copyright to individual works contained within this anthology are property of their respective authors.

Sheriff of the Dead by Jodi Jensen; Freedom’s Bounty by Crystal L. Kirkham; Red by Eric Lahti; The Hattersfield Dilemma by B.K. Bass; Creeper’s Wreath by D.W. Hitz

eBook License Notes:

This e-book is licensed for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make it publicly available in any way. It may not be resold or given away to others.  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Disclaimer:

Bounties, Beasts, and Badlands: Fantastic Tales of the Weird West is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Table of Contents

Bounties, Beasts, and Badlands: Fantastic Tales of the Weird West

Foreword

Sheriff of the Dead by Jodi Jensen

Freedom’s Bounty by Crystal L. Kirkham

Red by Eric Lahti

The Hattersfield Dilemma by B.K. Bass

Creeper’s Wreath by D.W. Hitz

Acknowledgements

What’s Next?

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Foreword

The west is an iconic place to many. The discovery of the New World created yet another new wonder. The curiosity of man said: What if we go further? It was a question that called men and women of daring and hopeful personalities. Later, it called fortune seekers. Even today, many are drawn by the wide-open spaces and the nature of a land that is still largely untamed.

The mythic idea of What Was is as strong as many of the world’s legendary places. It leads us to wonder What If? And within that thought was the core of this anthology.

Presented in the following pages are five stories of What if. They bring to life tales of zombies and magic, viruses and otherworldly beings, vampires and necromancy. They take us to worlds where the iconic west has inspired and awed, and it is a great honor that I am able to deliver them to you.

It is my privilege to present Bounties, Beasts, and Badlands: Fantastic Tales of the Weird West. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed bringing it together.

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D.W. Hitz

Sheriff of the Dead

by Jodi Jensen

The Road to Demise

Garrett ducked behind the rocks as gunfire rained bullets down around him. Don’t shoot! he hollered.

Come on out, a voice bellowed from across the wash. It’s over, you’re caught.

You have the wrong man, Garrett shouted. He squinted at his hand. Pressed against the rock, it was nearly the same color – dull gray.

The shooting stopped. You’re one of them and we know it! Don’t make this harder than it has to be.

As if I could. They were right though; he was one of them. Didn’t mean he wanted to eat them. Can I say something?

No! If I don’t see them hands by the count of three, we’re coming in!

If he still had a heart, it would be pounding.

One—

He glanced around, looking for an escape.

Two—

The cliff behind him offered a different kind of death. He edged toward it.

Three!

The shooting resumed. Bullets pinged off the rocks, whizzing by his head.

He dived back to the rock, flattening his body against the rough surface. Wait!

Get him, boys!

A flash of movement on Garrett’s left, then another on his right showed the posse closing in. He had nowhere to go – nowhere to hide.

A man in a brown shirt and black vest popped up from behind a sagebrush, gun pointed directly at Garrett’s head. Got you.

The man’s head exploded.

Garrett blinked at the shower of blood and gore. What—? A cloud of dust on the ridge caught his attention.

Through the billowing dust, he saw them.

Riders.

On his side? Perhaps. Or maybe they just had bad aim.

He risked a peek from behind the rock in time to see another of the posse get shot.

His side, then.

The man who’d counted down, turned, aiming at the approaching riders. There’s too many of them, he yelled, getting a couple of shots off. Let’s go!

He, and the rest of his men, scattered, dodging bullets as they mounted their horses.

Garrett scrambled out into the open and fired at the leader of the posse.

The man jerked in the saddle as a red spot bloomed on his arm. He kicked his horse and sped up, disappearing into the rocky desert landscape.

Holstering his gun, Garrett stepped forward to meet his rescuers.

The riders, seven of them, skidded to a halt in the small clearing the posse had vacated.

As the dust settled, Garrett smiled.

They were his kind. The undead.

Garrett Roth?

In the flesh, so to speak. Garrett tipped his hat at the tall, lanky man with weeping sores on his face and neck. And you are?

The man dismounted and held out a decaying hand. Clyde Parrish, your new Deputy. His gaze darted to his peeling flesh. The rot takes hold faster out here. What say we get you to Demise?

Garrett gripped Clyde’s hand without flinching and nodded. Sounds good to me.

Buck, bring me your horse and saddle up with Manny. Clyde waited as his men followed his orders. This’n’s a good mount, he said, patting the animal’s neck. He’ll do until we get to town.

Much obliged, Garrett said, one foot in the stirrup already. Once he was settled, he turned to Clyde, then glanced at the bodies of the two men from the posse who’d been killed. What about them?

We ain’t waiting around to see if they turn or not. Mayhap they’ll make their way to Demise sooner or later. Clyde shrugged. If they do, we’ll figure out what to do with them then.

Garrett lifted his bandana over the lower half of his face. With his nose half gone, he had to keep the dust out when riding. Lead the way.

Marshall Lawson and his posse ain’t gonna give up so easy. Reckon we’ll run into them again before Demise. We best skin outta here. Clyde gave his horse a kick and rode away.

With a flick of his reins, Garrett took off after his new Deputy.

A few miles west, the trail narrowed, leading into a canyon with towering red cliffs on either side. Garrett slowed as Clyde held up an arm.

Stay sharp! the Deputy called out. Plenty of places to hide in them rocks.

Garrett pulled his pistol from his hip and gripped the reins one-handed.

Clyde’s gaze flickered to Garrett and they both nodded once, then headed into the canyon at a steady pace.

An eerie silence ensued. No birds chirping, no leaves rustling, no sound except hooves hitting the rocky path.

Garrett’s skin crawled. This was the perfect place for an ambush.

No sooner than the thought occurred, a flash glinted on the left.

A man with a rifle popped up from behind a boulder and fired.

Shots erupted from both sides.

Yaw! Garrett hollered. He bent low and fired back, spurring his horse to a gallop.

Behind him, a high-pitched scream echoed through the canyon. He slowed a fraction, but Clyde rode up beside him.

Don’t stop, not for nothing! We need you in Demise. He ducked as a bullet whizzed by. I got your back!

Garrett leaned down, nearly hugging his horse, and kicked harder. He pulled ahead, firing another shot into the rocks as he went.

Before long, he was out of range. He rode ahead until the noise from the gunfight faded, then stopped to reload. One thing Ole’ Clyde was going to have to learn about him, he never left a fight.

Once his pistol was ready, he guided his horse into the rocks, picking his way along the side of the mountain through sagebrush and cactus until he heard men shouting.

The pungent scent of metal, sulfur, and smoke wafted on the breeze as the occasional shot rang out amidst the hollering.

...come out and we’ll let you live.

This statement was followed by hearty laughter.

Live – hell, they ain’t alive now!

...putting ’em outta their misery.

Garrett dismounted in a shallow wash behind a boulder and left the reins dangling in the red dirt as he snuck closer to the voices.

"Last chance, Deputy!"

"Getting a bit big for your britches, ain’t you, Marshall?"

More snickering filled the air, this time from across the trail. Garrett grinned beneath his bandana. That meant he was on the right side to catch Lawson and his men unaware. He crept closer.

I mean to have justice for Miss Linda! the Marshall roared. Another shot was fired from his side. "Her husband was killed and eaten!"

And the bastard that done it was put down! I saw to it myself and you know that! Clyde yelled back. You got your justice!

A twitch in the brush ahead revealed a cowboy hat.

Not good enough—

Garrett fired.

The hat popped into the air as the man flew backward, both landing in the dirt.

A volley of shots erupted, and Garrett ducked behind a jagged slab of rock. He scrambled back to the wash where he’d left his horse and used the cover to creep further away. Once he was out of range, he picked his way up the hillside, cutting across until he was above Lawson and his men. Crouching in the dirt, he peeked between two rocks.

He’d have liked to get the Marshall in his sights, but the poor schmuck in the bowler hat would have to do.

He took aim, this time for the head so there was no chance the man would be joining them in Demise.

The crack of Garrett’s shot echoed off the canyon walls as his target slumped over. Before the smoke cleared, he hightailed it out of there, furious curse words from Lawson ringing in his ears.

More gunfire from across the trail had the Marshall shouting at his men. Saddle up boys, we ain’t losing any more of us to these freaks!

A series of gunshots volleyed back and forth as Marshall Lawson and his posse abandoned the fight and scurried for their horses like a bunch of exposed cockroaches.

Garrett fired after their retreating forms but lost sight of them in the dust kicked up by the horses. Backtracking to retrieve his own mount, he returned to the trail.

Clyde and the rest of his undead gang emerged from the hillside. Thought I told you to get your ass to Demise, he said, frowning.

Actually, you said you got my back – well, I got yours too. Garrett took off the bandana and shook the dust out of it. I never turn my back on a fight, and that’s why you need me.

Shaking his head, Clyde chuckled. You ain’t wrong, I’ll say that much. We best get on outta here now. The Marshall ain’t gonna let this lie, he’ll be back with a bigger posse and more guns.

Garrett retied his bandana, then gripped the reins. Ready when you are.

They emerged from the canyon to a sprawling valley. The red dirt and sagebrush gave way to fertile fields and, in the distance, the town of Demise.

Garrett twitched in the saddle, eager to reach the town limits. Demise was a place like no other, its only inhabitants, the undead. Those lucky enough to have retained the power to think had made their way here and carved out a life for themselves.

The rules were simple: Don’t kill the living unless in self-defense. And if you did have to kill the living, eating them was strictly forbidden.

The conflict between the living and the dead had been going on for decades. Back in his living life, Garrett had been a Sheriff, widely known, respected, and feared, at least by the lawbreakers. In his dead life, he continued his mission, hunting down outlaws and dispensing his brand of justice.

Then he’d gotten the message about the state of things in Demise.

As they rode to the gates, the bell atop town hall rang and residents poured into the street. The rusted iron creaked as the double gates swung open. Curious onlookers jockeyed for position, murmuring amongst themselves.

Clyde drew his horse alongside Garrett’s, then glanced over. Welcome to Demise.

There’s a New Sheriff in Town

Garrett rode through the gates. There had to be over two hundred of the undead, in various stages of decay, lining the street all the way into the town square.

You should address them before we get you settled. Clyde nodded to a brick building with a sign reading Sheriff’s Office over the door.

Will do, Garrett agreed. He nudged his horse to the hitching post in front of the building, dismounted, and secured the reins.

The townspeople gathered, their voices a mixture of groans, growls, and words – exactly what he expected from a horde of the undead.

He climbed the three steps to the wood plank sidewalk and turned to face the crowd.

It’s him!

He made it!

Whatcha gonna do—

We need—

As voices rang out, Garrett stood there. His gaze roamed over the crowd – a woman with half a face, a man with one arm dangling limp at his side, another with an exposed ribcage. Flesh hung in tatters throughout, and every set of eyes was a dull gray.

What ya waitin’ for?

That Marshall ain’t waitin—

Garrett remained silent. He had no intention of talking over these people.

Quiet down! Clyde growled.

A few muttered complaints swept over the horde, but they settled.

As most of you already know, I’m Garrett Roth. I ran into Marshall Lawson on the way here, and, as luck would have it, Deputy Parrish came to my assistance, and we chased the Marshall and his posse away.

Another cheer rose from the horde and Clyde stepped forward, raising a hand.

"What he means is, we run ’em off only to get caught in the canyon and Sheriff Roth saved our asses."

Whoops, hollers, jeers, and growls of approval filled the air.

Clyde grinned, his blackened, rotting teeth on full display as he motioned for Garrett to continue.

Once the noise reduced to the occasional murmur, Garrett nodded. "Point is, the Deputy and I are working together, and we will get this sorted out so you can all resume your peaceful lives. But... He paused to peer at the souls gathered, ...what happened with Roland, what he did to that poor woman’s husband – that can never happen again."

The man tried to—

—sneakin’ around!

Got what he deserved!

Now, hold on. Garrett gave them a hard glare. "It doesn’t matter who did what, or what anyone deserved. We don’t eat the living. Period. Demise is our sanctuary, our chance for a life free from being hunted, but only if we all stick to the rule. No matter what."

Clyde stepped forward. Well said, Sheriff. That’ll be all for now. He motioned to a young woman whose long, stringy curls had patches of raw scalp showing through. If you wouldn’t mind, Miss Dixie, fixin’ us up some grub, I’ll show Garrett to his quarters, then we’ll be over directly.

She nodded and left for the café across the street. As the rest of the crowd dispersed, Garrett followed Clyde inside the Sheriff’s Office.

Against the wall on one side was a jail cell, currently empty, and on the opposite wall was a desk that faced the cell. A wood stove sat in the front corner and a few hooks littered the walls.

Pretty basic, but it does the job, Clyde said, sparing a glance around. He headed for a door on the back wall, opened it, and stood aside.

Garrett ducked into the back room, pleased to find his living quarters. A bit more cramped than the front office, the single room had a bed, dresser, washstand, and small square table with two chairs. This’ll do fine, he said, nodding at his Deputy. I’m much obliged.

And we’re obliged to have you. Clyde clapped him on the back. Now what say we go eat and I’ll fill you in on everything you don’t know about Roland.

Sounds good to me.

As requested, Miss Dixie had two plates ready and waiting at a table in the back corner. Garrett’s mouth watered and a surge of pulsating bloodlust careened through him at the sight and smell of fresh raw meat. It took every ounce of strength he had to maintain his civility as he took a seat. What is it?

Wild hog, Clyde snarled. Dig in.

Glancing around, Garrett saw the other patrons tearing and ripping into the fleshy meat, oblivious to anything but their food. Growls, moans, and gnashing teeth gave the carnal feasting a horrifically festive atmosphere, much like a town picnic from his living days.

Clyde looked up, his face and hands smeared with blood. You’ll get used to it.

Giving in to his primal urges, Garrett snatched the hog leg and tore into it. The flesh was still warm, and a pool of blood had collected on the plate. He swiped a chunk through the thick, rich, crimson sauce and groaned as he chewed. The world around him ceased to exist, his only focus, his next bite. A roaring noise echoed in his ears, and every color except the deep, red blood faded.

After gorging himself to the point of near sedation, Garrett sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his very full belly.

That’s how it happened, Clyde said, conversationally.

Garrett quirked an eyebrow. How what happened?

Clyde flashed two fingers at Dixie, then made a motion for a drink. At her nod, he turned back to Garrett. Roland.

How do you mean?

A feeding frenzy, that’s what it was. The poor soul wasn’t in his right mind because of the bloodlust.

Dixie arrived carrying a tray with two shot glasses filled to the brim with deep black-red blood, and two mugs with pink liquid. Setting them on the table, she nodded and left to attend other patrons.

Clyde picked up the shot glass and tipped it at Garrett. To the new Sheriff.

And his Deputy, Garrett said, downing the warm, salty blood. He reached for the tall mug. What’s this?

Ah, this my friend, is what passes for ale around here. A few drops of blood mixed with salt water. Clyde took a hearty swig from his cup.

Garrett followed suit, his lips puckering at the taste. Still, blood was blood, and saliva gathered in his mouth in anticipation of more. Tell me about Roland.

The man was our hog farmer. He lived on the outskirts of town, raising and breeding wild hogs like the one we just ate. Clyde took another, smaller swallow of the ale, then set his mug on the table. A hog farmer is vital to the survival of Demise and its inhabitants. The hogs are the main food staple here.

Makes sense, Garrett said, nodding.

The farm is outside of town so as not to tempt our citizens. It takes a strong-willed soul with iron self-control to be a hog farmer.

Impressed, Garrett nodded again. More control than most have, I reckon.

You got that right. Anyway, people outside of Demise have long been trying to free our hogs. And not because they care about the animals, but to prove a point.

Which is what?

Clyde leaned forward, elbows on the table. That without the hogs to feed on, we’d turn into a bunch of bloodthirsty animals ourselves.

Garrett gave a sardonic laugh. "That is the point though, the reason you have the hogs in the first place, so that doesn’t happen."

Exactly! Clyde slapped the table. Bunch of idiots, if you ask me.

"They’re scared – scared of us beasts getting out and coming for them in the dark of night. So, they figure, let the beasts out into the light, where they can see us, and deal with it on their terms. Garrett took a sip of his drink, then eyed his Deputy. Fear will make people do crazy, stupid things."

Clyde’s mouth pulled into a grim line. That’s how this whole mess started. A man from the outside, Walter, broke into Roland’s hog pens. He’d cut himself on the barbed-wire fence and was bleeding pretty good when he stumbled right into Roland, who’d been feeding the hogs.

Garrett saw the scenario play out in his mind. A fresh blood-covered man, running unannounced into one of the undead. No matter how strong-willed Roland had been, the bloodlust would’ve been in control at that moment.

He came to me, you know, Roland did. Told me what happened. Clyde ran a hand over his face, weariness etched into his features. He felt terrible. Offered himself up to be exiled, even though he knew the Marshall would kill him.

Good man, Garrett murmured.

Too good for me to allow that nonsense. I knew the Marshall would draw it out, torture him, make an example of him. So, I said no.

Garrett saw the pain in his Deputy’s eyes and knew what was coming. He took a sip of his ale, and gripping the mug tightly, waited.

I done it myself – put him down. It was clean and fast, and not what he deserved. Not at all. Clyde shook his head. "I laid him in the back of a wagon and drove him to the gates, showed the Marshall that Roland had received his