Lightning Rider : Better Days

By Aaron Abilene

A man becomes a legendary gunslinger after his parents are killed by a gang of outlaws and he sets out for revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Syphon Creative
• Release date: Apr 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224002092

Book preview

Lightning Rider : Better Days

Aaron Abilene

Published by Syphon Creative, 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

LIGHTNING RIDER : BETTER DAYS

First edition. April 16, 2024.

Copyright © 2024 Aaron Abilene.

Written by Aaron Abilene.

Also by Aaron Abilene

505

505: Resurrection

Balls

Dead Awake (Coming Soon)

Carnival Game

Full Moon Howl

Donovan

Shades of Z

Deadeye

Deadeye & Friends

Cowboys Vs Aliens (Coming Soon)

Ferris

Life in Prescott (Coming Soon)

Afterlife in Love (Coming Soon)

Island

Paradise Island

The Lost Island

The Lost Island 2

The Lost Island 3

The Island 2

Pandemic

Pandemic (Coming Soon)

Prototype

The Compound

Slacker

Slacker 2

Slacker: Dead Man Walkin'

Texas

A Vampire in Texas

Thomas

Quarantine

Contagion

Eradication

Isolation

Immune (Coming Soon)

Pathogen (Coming Soon)

Virus

Raising Hell (Coming Soon)

Zombie Bride

Zombie Bride

Zombie Bride 2

Zombie Bride 3

Standalone

The Victims of Pinocchio

A Christmas Nightmare

Pain

Fat Jesus

A Zombie's Revenge

505

The Headhunter

Crash

Tranq

The Island

Dog

The Quiet Man

Joe Superhero

Feral

Good Guys

Devil Child of Texas

Romeo and Juliet and Zombies

The Gamer

Becoming Alpha

Dead West

Small Town Blues

Shades of Z: Redux

The Gift of Death

Killer Claus

Skarred

Home Sweet Home

Alligator Allan

10 Days (Coming Soon)

Army of The Dumbest Dead (Coming Soon)

Kid (Coming Soon)

The Cult of Stupid (Coming Soon)

9 Time Felon (Coming Soon)

Slater (Coming Soon)

Bad Review: Hannah Dies (Coming Soon)

Me Again (Coming Soon)

Maurice and Me (Coming Soon)

Breaking Wind (Coming Soon)

The Family Business (Coming Soon)

Lightning Rider : Better Days (Coming Soon)

Lazy Boyz (Coming Soon)

Sparkles The Vampire Clown (Coming Soon)

She's Psycho (Coming Soon)

Vicious Cycle (Coming Soon)

Romeo and Juliet: True Love Conquers All (Coming Soon)

Hunting Sarah (Coming Soon)

Random Acts of Stupidity (Coming Soon)

Born Killer (Coming Soon)

The Abducted (Coming Soon)

Graham Hiney (Coming Soon)

Zartan (Coming Soon)

The Firsts in Life (Coming Soon)

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Aaron Abilene

Lightning Rider : Better Days | Written By Aaron Abilene

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Also By Aaron Abilene

Lightning Rider : Better Days

Written By Aaron Abilene

The saloon's air hung heavy with gunsmoke and the pungent tang of whiskey as Luke Lightning Rider stepped up to the line, his presence commanding a hush among the rambunctious crowd. A half-dozen empty bottles danced on the string twenty paces away, glinting tauntingly under the dim oil lamps.

Ready, Lightning? the caller drawled, a wry smile twitching beneath his handlebar mustache.

Luke's hand hovered above his revolver's grip, eyes locked on the glass targets. The room seemed to shrink, focusing his world down to the space between his fingers and the cold metal waiting to sing.

Draw!

In a blur, Luke's revolver cleared leather, and thunder rolled through the saloon. Six shots rang out, melding into one continuous roar. Glass shards rained onto the sawdust floor as each bottle exploded in a spray of glittering debris before the echo of the first gunshot had even faded.

A cheer erupted from the onlookers, their raucous approval battling the ringing in Luke's ears. He spun the smoking gun on his finger before sliding it back into its holster with a steely click.

Damnation, Rider! someone shouted from the back, You sure are the devil's own triggerman!

Luke tipped his hat in acknowledgment, the ghost of a smirk playing across his rugged features as he turned away from the makeshift firing range.

Outside, away from the din, two pairs of devoted eyes tracked his every move. Stinky, a scruffy mongrel with a battle-scarred ear, sat on his haunches by the hitching post, tongue lolling in a pant that was more excitement than heat. Beside him, Suzy, a chestnut mare with a white blaze running down her nose, nuzzled at the dog's neck, her large brown eyes reflecting pride for the man they both called master.

As Luke stepped out into the fading daylight, he felt the familiar weight of Stinky's adoration settle over him like a well-worn duster. The dog rose, wagging his tail with such force it seemed he might take flight. Luke bent down, rough hands gentle against Stinky's grizzled fur, and muttered a few words that were lost to all but the dog's keen ears.

Suzy snorted, stamping a hoof as if to remind Luke of her presence. He straightened up and stroked her muzzle, his touch conveying a silent conversation that had been perfected over countless miles and trials. The bond between man, dog, and horse was a trinity of loyalty born from shared danger and the unspoken promise of never facing it alone.

Come on, you two, Luke said, a hint of warmth melting the ice in his voice. Let's see what else this day has in store for us.

Together, the trio moved off, their shadows blending with the creeping dusk, ready to face any challenge the untamed frontier could muster.

Luke Lightning Rider's hand hovered near the polished handle of his revolver, a panther poised to strike. The saloon's raucous energy had soured, curdling into a thick tension that clung to the smoky air. A band of outlaws, fresh from the dusty trail and ripe with the scent of trouble, swaggered through the batwing doors. Their leader, a brute with a jagged scar marring his cheek, flashed a gap-toothed grin as he surveyed the room.

Lookie here, boys, the outlaw sneered, locking eyes with Luke. We got ourselves the man who thinks his trigger finger's kissed by lightning.

Stinky growled low in his throat, sensing the shift in mood, but Luke laid a steady hand on the dog's back. Suzy, ever watchful from her post by the window, tossed her head with a snort of warning.

Reckon I don't think, friend, Luke replied, voice cool as a high mountain stream. I know.

The outlaw’s chuckle was met with the rattle of his gang's laughter as they fanned out, hands inching toward their own iron.

Prove it.

With an economy of movement born of countless such encounters, Luke's hand blurred, and the saloon echoed with the sharp clap of his Colt. In a heartbeat, guns clattered across the wooden floor, plucked from the outlaws' grips with a precision that bordered on supernatural. There wasn't a drop of blood spilled—yet the message was clear as crystal: Luke Rider was not a man to be trifled with.

Pick 'em up and get out, Luke said, his voice the final nail in their coffins of pride.

The outlaws obeyed, sheepish and subdued, scampering like chastised curs under the weight of the saloon's collective stare. As the door swung shut behind them, a round of cheers erupted from the patrons. Stinky barked, tail whipping back and forth, while Suzy let out a satisfied whinny.

Never gets old, watching you work, came a familiar, gravelly voice.

Bill Rider emerged from the throng, his weather-beaten face breaking into a rare smile. He clasped Luke's shoulder with a grip that spoke volumes of their shared past.

Didn't have much choice in learning, Luke replied, holstering his gun with a click that resonated in the quieter room.

Maybe not, son, Bill acknowledged, his eyes holding Luke's with a pride that was usually reserved for the privacy of their homestead. But you took to it with a grace that can't be taught. You've done me proud, Luke. Done your folks proud, if they were here to see it.

Luke's gaze flickered, a storm cloud passing over the steel blue of his eyes. The mention of his parents—a rare occurrence—tightened his jaw for a fleeting moment before he masked it with a nod.

Means a lot, Bill, he admitted, voice rough with unspoken emotion.

Come on, let's get you something to wash down the taste of gunsmoke, Bill said, steering Luke toward the bar with a familiarity that only years could forge.

Behind them, Stinky trotted along, loyalty personified in each step, while outside, Suzy kept her silent vigil, knowing that where Luke went, she would follow. Together, they were an indomitable force upon the vast canvas of the Western frontier.

The sun beat down like a blacksmith's hammer on the anvil of the desert, and the dust kicked up by Suzy's galloping hooves hung in the air like a shroud. Luke Lightning Rider leaned forward in the saddle, his gaze fixed on the horizon as the rugged terrain of the Western frontier stretched before him. The only sound that rivaled the thunderous rhythm of hooves was the panting of Stinky, who ran alongside, his tongue lolling out but his eyes sharp with determination.

Yah! Luke shouted, urging Suzy on, the mare responding with a burst of speed that ate up the ground beneath them. They were chasing shadows, rumors of rustlers spotted near the edge of Bill's land, and Luke wasn't about to let them think they could graze on what wasn't theirs. Stinky kept pace, his loyalty to Luke stronger than the call of any wild scent that whipped past his snout.

They hit a stretch of rocky ground, and Suzy danced across it, her hooves picking their way with a care that belied her speed. Stinky, ever the scrapper, bounded from rock to rock, his scrappy form surprisingly agile. Together, they were poetry in motion, a symphony of sinew and survival.

Coming to a wide arroyo, Luke guided Suzy to leap without hesitation. She soared over the gap, landing with a grunt on the other side, her muscles bunching and releasing with the effort. Stinky cleared it in a single bound, his devotion giving wings to his weathered frame.

Good girl, Suzy! Atta boy, Stink! Luke called out, pride swelling in his chest for his two faithful companions.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the scrubland, they finally slowed to a halt atop a high ridge. Below, the landscape was empty; the rustlers had either moved on or had been nothing more than a mirage. But the chase hadn't been for nothing. It was a chance to stretch their legs, to remind the wilderness that they were its masters, not the other way around.

Luke swung down from Suzy's back, his boots crunching on the gravelly soil, and set up tin cans he'd brought along on a nearby fence post. He stepped back, drawing his revolver with a fluid motion that spoke of countless hours of practice.

Watch closely, Stink, he said, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Gunshots rang out, echoing off the canyon walls as though the earth itself bore witness to his skill. Each shot was a punctuation, a declaration of his presence in this untamed land. One by one, the cans jumped and twirled, sent spinning by the kiss of lead with unerring precision.

By the time the echo faded, silence reigned once more, save for the soft huffs of Suzy and Stinky's breaths. The cans lay riddled, testament to the legend of Lightning Rider. Stinky barked once, sharply, as if in approval, and Luke gave the dog a nod.

Let's head back, Luke said, holstering his weapon. The day's not done with us yet.

Suzy nickered softly as he mounted, ready to carry her rider wherever he needed to go, while Stinky took his place by her side. As they turned toward home, the setting sun painted the sky with blood and fire, a fitting canvas for a man whose name was whispered with both reverence and fear across the Western frontier.

The saloon doors crashed open, splintering the rowdy laughter with a gust of desert wind. Dust swirled around the newcomer's boots, the floorboards creaking a sinister welcome. Luke Lightning Rider didn't need to turn; his shadow had shifted, stretched by the silhouette of death standing in the doorway.

Rider! The voice was as rough as gravel, each syllable a promise of violence. Heads turned, drinks paused mid-sip, the piano's jaunty tune faltering and dying like a man gasping his last breath.

Luke's hand hovered near his holster, a coiled serpent ready to strike. His eyes met those of the rival gunslinger, a man whose reputation was etched in the scars that crisscrossed his weathered face. Names were for tombstones; here, they only called him Viper.

Viper, Luke acknowledged, his voice steady as the rock that lined the canyons outside. The clatter of poker chips and the soft whimpers of fear from the saloon's patrons filled the tense silence that followed.

Word is you're fast, Rider. Viper's hand twitched, an involuntary tic that spoke of too many duels and not enough graves.

Guess we'll see, Luke replied, his words slicing through the thick air, as sharp as the blade he never needed to draw.

In a blink, it happened. Two shots shattered the stillness, so close together they could've been one. Viper's bullet found nothing but air; Luke's found its home. Viper staggered, a look of disbelief etching into his features before he crumpled to the floor, a growing crimson flower blooming on his chest.

The saloon erupted into chaos, but for Luke, the world was silent save for the slow, even beat of his heart. He glanced at Stinky, who sat unnervingly calm amidst the turmoil, then back at the lifeless heap that had been Viper. It was over as quick as lightning—fitting for a man named Rider.

With no time to waste, Luke strode out into the enfolding dusk, Suzy waiting loyally beyond the commotion. Murmurs of awe trailed him, but he paid them no mind. There were townsfolk needing rescue, and daylight was bleeding away faster than an outlaw's courage.

Mounting Suzy, he felt the familiar leather of the saddle beneath him, the reins firm in his grip. With a nudge of his spurs, they were off, racing against the dying light. Stinky bounded alongside, a blur of fur and loyalty.

They rode hard, the landscape a smear of color and shadow. The setting sun cast long, fierce fingers across the land, turning the wilderness into a canvas of flame and twilight. In that moment, Luke was more than a man; he was an avenger, a specter of retribution riding towards an unknown fate, his path lit by the fire in the sky and the righteousness in his heart. Ahead lay danger, maybe death, but for Lightning Rider, it was just another stretch of road on the way to justice.

Dust rose in swirling clouds as the stagecoach thundered across the arid landscape, its horses driven to a frenzied gallop by the crack of the driver's whip. Suddenly, from the jagged embrace of the surrounding buttes, a gang of bandits materialized, their shadows elongating like specters reaching for their prey.

Stop your rig! the leader bellowed, his voice a harsh command over the chaos, a pistol leveled at the coachman.

Luke Lightning Rider pulled Suzy up short at a rise overlooking the unfolding drama, his keen eyes assessing the situation with practiced ease. Stinky, ever vigilant, growled low in his throat, sensing the danger below.

Without a word, Luke dismounted, his movements as fluid as quicksilver. He crouched, drawing his Colt with a whisper of leather and metal—a harbinger of the storm to come.

Easy pickings, boys, one bandit laughed, yanking open the door of the coach to reveal the wide-eyed passengers within.

Perhaps for some, Luke's voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. Before the bandits could react, he stepped into view, his presence commanding, lethal. His gun spoke once, twice, thrice—echoing across the plains, each shot an extension of his will.

The outlaws scrambled, their bravado shattered by the sudden onslaught. But Lightning Rider was relentless. He moved like a force of nature, every blow precise, every bullet finding its mark. The bandits' return fire was wild, desperate; they were no match for Luke's deadly dance.

In moments, it was over. The bandits lay still, their threat extinguished. Luke holstered his weapon and approached the stagecoach, tipping his hat to the passengers as they clambered out, their expressions a mix of awe and gratitude.

Thank you, mister, a woman said, her voice trembling. You saved our lives.

Part of the day's work, ma'am, Luke replied, a ghost of a smile on his weathered face.

As the coach resumed its journey, Luke mounted Suzy once more, patting her neck as he considered his next move. Stinky leaped up beside him, ready for whatever lay ahead.

The saloon was a cacophony of noise and vice when Luke entered that evening, the air thick with tobacco smoke and the scent of whiskey. He sauntered to the poker table, where a high-stakes game was underway, the tension around the felt palpable.

Deal me in, he said, his voice carrying the weight of his reputation.

The players regarded him with respect, some with a flicker of fear. They knew who he was—the fastest draw, the sharpest eye. But did they know him as a gambler?

The cards were dealt, the bets placed with calculating precision. Luke watched his opponents, his gaze never lingering, yet missing nothing. He played his hand close to his chest, his reflexes honed not just for gunplay but for the subtle tells and feints of the game.

As the night wore on, the stakes rose higher, the pile of money before Luke growing with each victorious round. He was a study in control, his demeanor unflappable even as the pot swelled to a small fortune.

Fold, one man finally spat, throwing his cards down in defeat.

One by one, they conceded, until only Luke remained, his pile of winnings casting long shadows under the dim lamps. He stood, collecting his earnings with a courteous nod. Gentlemen, he said, the edge of danger in his voice an unspoken warning against any thoughts of reclaiming what he'd won fair and square.

They watched in silence as he pocketed the money, then strode out into the night, Stinky at his heels and Suzy waiting patiently outside. Luke had proved himself once again—not just as a gunslinger, but as a master of the deadly game of chance.

Dust rose in plumes under Suzy's thundering hooves, the sun a relentless blaze in the fierce blue sky. Luke Lightning Rider narrowed his eyes against the glare, a grim set to his jaw as he surveyed the jagged mouth of Dead Man's Canyon. Stinky, his loyal dog, paced restlessly at his side, sensing the impending violence that hung in the air like a promise.

They had come for the Brodie gang, a ruthless band of outlaws who'd taken to terrorizing the local townsfolk, their latest escapade leaving a trail of blood and fear. The canyon walls whispered of their presence, the silence a deceitful prelude to the chaos about to unfold.

Luke dismounted with a quiet grace, patting Suzy's neck before drawing his Colt with the smoothness of flowing water. His eyes scoured the shadows, seeking the flicker of movement, the slightest hint of his quarry.

A shot rang out, echoing against stone, a bullet whistling past Luke's ear. In the span of a heartbeat, he dropped to one knee, sighting down the barrel with lethal precision. His return fire was a crack of thunder, a flash of death that found its mark in an outlaw's chest.

Stinky, watch the left! Luke barked the command as he rolled behind a boulder, the dog dashing forth with a snarl. Another bandit fell, a red blossom spreading across his shirt as Luke's bullet pierced the silence.

The gunfight raged, a symphony of gunfire and shouted curses. Outlaws emerged from their hiding spots, but none could match Luke's deadly dance. He moved like a specter of vengeance, each bullet a harbinger of justice. One by one, the Brodie gang met their end, until the canyon grew silent once more, save for the ragged breaths of a man and his dog.

As the dust settled, a new tension sliced through the stillness. A group of Native American warriors edged into the canyon, their bows taut, arrows aimed with deadly intent. Luke faced them, his hands steady, though his guns now holstered. Stinky growled, the fur on his back bristling, but a subtle motion from Luke stilled him.

Easy, fellas, Luke said, his voice a calm ripple in the charged air. I ain't here for you.

The warriors exchanged glances, their expressions masked by war paint but their suspicion evident. Luke met their gaze squarely, respect woven into his stance. He spoke again, his words deliberate, acknowledging their lands, their rights.

Your fight ain't with me. These men, he gestured to the fallen outlaws, they wronged your people too. I reckon we want the same thing—peace on this land.

A moment stretched between them, fraught with the potential for bloodshed or understanding. Then, the leader of the warriors lowered his bow, nodding slowly. The others followed suit, their hostility ebbing away as they recognized the truth in Luke's words.

Today, you fight well, the leader said, his voice gruff but not unkind. You respect our ways. For this, we honor you.

Luke tipped his hat, a gesture of mutual respect. Just doing what's right, he replied.

With a final nod, the warriors turned, disappearing into the landscape as silently as they arrived. Luke watched them go, feeling an unexpected kinship in the shared language of honor.

He whistled for Stinky, and together, they returned to where Suzy waited. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the land, but for Luke Lightning Rider, the day's work was done. Justice had been served, and an unlikely alliance forged in the heart of the dusty canyon.

Dust swirled around Luke Lightning Rider as he surveyed the terrain, his hand hovering near the polished grip of his revolver. The setting sun was a blood-red smear against the horizon, casting an ominous glow over the rocky outcrop where he and Suzy had stopped to rest. Stinky, ever vigilant, growled low in his throat, ears pricked toward the echoing clatter of loose stones from the ridge above.

Easy, girl, Luke murmured to Suzy, patting her neck as he squinted into the encroaching darkness. His instincts screamed danger. He'd ridden through hell and high water, but this silence was the harbinger of death—a silent scream before the storm.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted, splintering the evening calm, bullets ricocheting off the stone with deadly whines. Stinky barked, a sharp, urgent sound, as Luke threw himself