New Beginnings (#3, Duster and a Gun)

Duster and a Gun

New Beginnings

By Gregory Blackman

Published by Gregory Blackman at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Gregory Blackman

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Written in Canada.

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Duster and a Gun:

In 1447, history was rewritten when the Vatican was swallowed whole by the fiery pits of Hell. Demons, ghouls and other unspeakable horrors descended upon the land, preying on humanity; caught in the middle of a battle they knew nothing about. And so began a perpetual dark age, where ones worth was valued on how well they handle themselves in a fight. Pursuits such as peace and equal rights were put on hold, for larger firearms and the tightening of dictatorships. It was truly Hell on Earth, and Heaven didn’t seem to care in the least. By the year 2015, it was a perverse world of science, where the hydrogen bomb and steam-powered locomotive exist in unison, corrupted by the will of the supernatural. The Industrial revolution is in full swing, and the only thing faster than the rise of the USA is the inner turmoil that threatens to bring it all apart from the shadows.

New Beginnings:

Horace has vanquished the beast known as the Abaddon, but now finds the removal of one obstacle has only opened the floodgates to a great deal more. If dealing with cutthroats and demons wasn’t hard enough, Horace and company are about to deal with the looming threat of the Order. Horace’s location has been revealed by the powers that be and they won’t stop coming until they uncover the truth of Horace’s lost years. He’s going to need all the friends he can get for the coming battle, because war is coming and it’s going to be hell.

Warning: This eBook contains graphic imagery and coarse language.

Table of Contents

Duster and a Gun: New Beginnings

Gregory Blackman

01 A Moment in Time

02 Gut Full of Lead

03 Expected Arrival

04 Foster the Reaper

05 Days Past

06 Do it Big

07 The Boys Are Back in Town

08 Wanted Dead or Alive

09 Main Street Beat Down

10 Fallen in Place

11 Separation of Hell 101

12 Battered and Broken

13 Around the Corner

14 High in the Sky

15 Shakes and Scars

16 Piece by Piece

Chapter One

Duster and a Gun: New Beginnings

Gregory Blackman

A Moment in Time

The stone walls of the Order of the Reapers had housed me for all my teenage years, but a home it was not. There was no loving mother cooking sweets in the kitchen to ease my daily troubles and no overprotective father to scold me when I acted the fool. Yet these were the only walls that housed me since I was the age of ten.

It was a reliable building that saw me through many harsh winters atop the Broad Crag Mountains of the British Isles. It wasn’t the Spartan lifestyle one would expect of a reaper in training, but still it remained modest by the standards of anyone of noted birth. A surplus of nearby lumber saw that there was always a warm fire to be kindled and the cellar was stocked with enough grain to see me through the coldest months. It wasn’t the home I once had, but every day those memories become harder to focus on. I feared when that one day the time would come that I truly had no place to call home.

Most of the other students at the Order could scarcely remember their folks. Some thought it was time that clouded their memories. Others believed it to be from the weekly visits to High Overseer Alistair’s alchemical chamber. All I knew was that after that first visit my past became shrouded in a haze that hasn’t ever cleared.

The Order of the Reapers was far removed from civilization, and as such, demanded self-sufficiency from each of its members. Since the age of ten, I’d been responsible for the all necessities needed to survive. During some of the darkest days of my life, I believed the task impossible. I was proved wrong every time.

My handler was a crotchety old man that refused to show me any sort of compassion. He punished me when I failed to meet expectations and he pushed me when I refused to jump. Walter Astor was his name and he was the man that stole me from the only home I’d ever known.

I hated him for many long years. I hated him until the hate became a weight even I couldn’t lift. That is when I began to learn.

He taught me in the ways of tracking and hunting. He schooled me daily in the art of combat, both ancient and modern. He turned me into an assassin of supernatural construction. And all the while Walter was becoming the closest I would come to the father I could hardly remember. That’s when I knew I had to leave.

It was supposed to be a big day. At least that’s what the gang kept telling me. We’d completed our trial missions and would now find ourselves able to pick the next assignments of our choice. On this day we were to rejoice in our successes, yet all I could manage was to wallow in my mistakes.

Alonzo Rubio was the first student I spoke to at the Order. I came across him just minutes before orientation and he’s remained one of my closest friends ever since. He keeps talking about the extravagant tech he’s going to buy with the loot he finds while on assignment. I must have told him a million times that the Order bags and tags all of the artifacts found at each site and that a reaper’s salary isn’t for the fortune seekers. Alonzo would look me right in the eyes and swear he’d found a loophole.

Then there was Damian Foster. He looked the kind of man that would swallow you whole and complain of how little meat there was on your bones. It was a part he played well, but that wasn’t the kind of man he was on the inside. There were many of times I had seen him go hungry so the smaller children could have a meal. Not once did I offer him anything I’d prepared.

He wouldn’t have learned that way. The world is a much colder place than these mountain tops. Foster keeps talking about freeing his people from slavery. There was only one country on the planet that still kept once free men in shackles. It also happened to be the mightiest country of them all and the country I called my own. His was a noble and just cause, of that I had no doubt, but still it was a cause that might one day take his life.

And last but not least there was Dalia Macon. When she first arrived I could barely understand a word that came out of her mouth and we would clash constantly over the smallest transgressions. Like all things from our past, her French accent faded soon after the treatments began. Dalia’s temper cooled over the years and she turned into a calm and collected soldier of great skill. She was even better than me, though I’d never have told her as much. I would miss her the most.

Knock. Knock. Knock. I knew well that knock and hastily moved to answer the door.

Honored handler, I said as I greeted him with a stiff bow. I said nothing more to the man that had helped mold me and we leave the room with me trailing in tandem up to the silver-lined steps of the Order’s front ward.

The Order of the Reapers was an ancient fortress built high atop mountains that few men dared to traverse. It was an inhospitable region to build a stronghold, which made it the perfect place to raise a small army. Its mere presence made the Order a place to be shunned by the population below, and the reapers watched as those people gave the region a wide birth.

It was a fortress constructed by believers, sent by Rome and paid for by the English. Neither faction wanted this Order to exist. Yet neither faction could deny its necessity. It was sculpted by the finest craftsmen and artisans, although their deft touch was only noticeable to the few well above the nearby mountain peaks. Its walls were built directly into Broad Crag Mountain and made it impossible to mount a successful invasion by even the most dangerous monsters. If not for a single elevator that served as gateway, the Order would only be reachable by those trained within these very walls. It was a fortress not meant to fall easily, for it had enemies and their numbers were great.

Silver mined from the mountain’s core lined the Order’s interior that would keep out all but the most hardened supernatural foe. The silver spires and parapets glistened in the moonlight and stood as a beacon to their foes, this land belonged to man.

We made our way to the central gate and were promptly saluted by the reapers stationed inside. This show of respect wasn’t for me, I hadn’t earned such honors. Walter, on the other hand, was more than just a simple handler. He was a revered member of the Order with a track record of monster slayings not likely to be surpassed.

Walter wasn’t a man of many words and I knew better than to attempt small talk in his presence. If Walter wanted my opinion he would demand it of me. Dalia would always say the same about me, a man of few words. I guess that I’d become more like my handler than I wanted to admit.

Good evening, sir, said a reaper clad in armor as the two of us reached the front entrance. He looked for a response but it became apparent that none would come so the guard quickly moved to open the doors for us. They closed behind us with a hefty thud and shut out the moonlight that illuminated our surroundings. There were a few torches to guide the way, but even had there not been, it wouldn’t have made any difference. We knew these hallways better than we knew ourselves.

On this particular night I felt the compulsion to stop walking. I’d passed through the same hallway without a thought countless times. It was a grand hallway with ornate crown molding and dozens of paintings hung prominently for all to see.

It was a hallway I never felt comfortable walking down. No matter how many times I passed by, I could never bring myself to look upon these reaper’s faces. On this night my reticence had been lifted and I peered upon their faces for the first time.

These paintings were of men and women of the highest regard, paragons of our kind that will forever be remembered in the hall of fallen ones. I always imagined them with imposing faces and statuesque figures more akin to Greek gods than mere mortals.

Appearance can be deceiving. I couldn’t help but find a resemblance to the boys and girls I’d grown up with all these years. The powers that swelled within them made them champions of the supernatural. Those powers were given to all of us students. We were the men and women destined for the next paintings to hang in the fallen ones hallway. One day our accomplishments will be the dust of history.

Is there a problem? Walter asked.

No, sir, I said, flustered and caught off guard. Not tonight.

I never cared much for history. Perhaps that’s why I could never bring myself to look to the sides when I walked