Inferno Gulch

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 9 (v.1)

Submitted: January 21, 2014

Reads: 71

Comments: 5

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Submitted: January 21, 2014

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PART NINE

“The Sheriff”

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The next morning, freshly dressed and fully refreshed after the spice had worn off, Tracker came back down into the saloon. The same souls were playing backgammon but the steamer piano was now playing some waltz version of Sympathy for the Devil.

Tracker noticed the pixie whore Tangle was slow dancing with some tall, dark haired guy who was so drunk she had to hold him up. The rotund bartender was still behind the bar.

“Mornin’” he cheerily greeted, “like some breakfast?”

“Naw, thanks,” Tracker replied.

No sooner had she uttered those words, Boson Litmus appeared.

“Are you headed over to the Sheriff’s office?”

Tracker nodded.

“I’ll escort you there.”

Tracker shrugged indifferently as they headed out. Even under the searing binary sun light, the town appeared dead. Litmus led Tracker down the dry and dusty street to a ragtag office building with shattered windows and cracked, peeling drywall.

They entered by pushing aside a rotted wooden door off its hinges. Inside, the office was dark and dank. Some skeleton skinny bald man sat behind a oak desk. The desk was covered in some type of green mold. In a far cobwebbed corner stood a tall, freakishly muscular guy with a square jaw and flat top crew cut, who smiled cruelly.

“Sheriff!” Litmus called out to the emancipated bald man, “this young lady is looking for someone. I thought you might be able to help her.”

“I’d like a chance to help her!” square jaw muttered with an air of perversion.

“Atlas, shush!” the bald man stoically instructed.

Litmus turned to Tracker.

“This is Sheriff Camus.”

Camus glanced at Tracker with stone dead eyes.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked hoarsely.

“A young couple,” Tracker answered, “she has long dark wavy hair. He’s thin with long hair and beard. Heard they may have arrived by stage a few days ago.”

“Why you looking for them?” It was more of an accusation than a question Tracker noted.

“I’ve been hired to find them.”

“Who hired you?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

Sheriff Camus smiled a smile that revealed rotted out, yellowed teeth that zigzagged in his decayed mouth like a ruptured buzz saw.

“Well, I can’t recall anyone matching those descriptions around here.”

“Yeah, I would’ve fucked that dark haired bitch by now if she were around!” Atlas remarked.

“Atlas, shut the hell up!!” Camus replied with what little strength he seemed to be able to muster.

“Anyone else around who might know?” Tracker asked knowing they knew.

“Maybe the Doc,” Litmus volunteered, which resulted in a dull stare from Camus.

“So where can I find this Doctor?” Tracker asked.

Camus seemed to loose interest, as he vacantly stared into the air to answer her question.

“Probably at the clinic across the street. I’ll have Deputy Atlas take you over.”

Atlas perked up.

“No, I’ll find him on my own,” Tracker quickly said.

Camus nodded. “Well then I hope you find who you’re looking for before…”

Camus quickly cut himself off.

“Before what?” Tracker asked.

Camus smiled sadistically, “Before the Festival of Judgments begin!”

Next: “The Doctor”


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