Many people thought that when the bombs fell, the nukes flew, and the land was covered in nuclear fire, humanity would die with the world. We’re a tougher breed than that though. Mankind didn’t die, even culture withstood the test of time. Sure at least 99% of the population of earth was completely wiped out, but entire countries in Africa and South America remained mostly untouched; and when decades had passed and man finally crawled out of his holes in the ground he expected to find nothing more than parched radioactive death awaiting him. He did not expect to encounter life. Twisted life, flourishing in the pockets of green alongside the atomic craters that now pockmarked the earth. Not only man lived, but also his habits. Society survived, culture survived, crafts and trade skills survived, and even war survived. That’s right, even after our nuclear thrashing, we still couldn’t help but finish where those warheads left off. That’s where I come in.

I’m a warrior… of sorts. I kill people, and I usually do it for a cause. It’s just that that cause happens to be a little extra wealth in my pockets. I like to console myself thinking that I only kill bad people, but that’s just not true. I mostly kill bad people. I’m a bounty hunter you see. A warrior of wealth, an assassin after anyone with cash on their head. I’d like to think that anyone who I’ve done in has done something worth that bounty on their head, but anyone with the money can put out a bounty, and I’m sure some of my bounties were just innocent folk, however, it’s not my job to worry about that kind of thing. I just do the shooting.

***

“You ever been to Harbel?” I turned to the voice behind me. Town was bustling today. Dust thickened the air from the many feet of camels, men, horses, and carriages. The sun beat down heavily on the mud huts and old concrete structures that had weathered the 56 years since the bombs had fallen, that’s twenty years before I was even born. I turned to the man. He was dark skinned, like most of the people here in Liberia. He wore a tattered polo shirt, and wore khakis with a snub-nosed revolver stuffed in one of the pockets.

“No, but I’ve heard of it. Some kind of port trading town?” He nodded. I wondered why he was here, then again,  I probably stuck out like a sheep in wolf’s clothing standing there in the road now that I think about it. I was the only white man in a dark village. Probably wasn’t another for hundreds of miles around, or another village for that matter. I couldn’t have been inconspicuous if I’d tried. It didn’t help that I was wearing my old world flak jacket, an Egyptian flag stitched on the arm, a broad brimmed leather hat, and carried my long-barreled Colt .44 high on my hip.

“If you’re looking for a guide, I’m your man. Been waiting for someone to take a look at one of these posters all day!” I smiled at that last part. Being a guide was good work in these parts, not many people could find their way through the vast expanse of Liberia without one. The job was also dangerous. Bandits liked to lurk in the jungles along roadsides, a good guide could get you past them, simply by knowing where they liked to hunt, and knowing how to blend in. A guide had to have quick wits, and a lot of guts. He glanced down at the poster I held: 70g silver for the body of Gartee of Harbel. Wanted dead. My job wasn’t a glorious one. I had to travel from Du Side Village to Harbel, and shoot some man so I could collect his corpse. I inquired about his price.

“Half.” He said, pointing at my poster. My eyes bulged as he grinned a greasy grin. 35g of silver was an obscene pay rate, even for a guide. He was a scrawny little weasel, I could’ve probably slapped a leash on him and forced him to guide me, but that was just asking for a knife in the back.

“Ten grams.” I retorted. Now it was his turn to sneer.

“Twenty seven.” He said.

“Seventeen, I’ll go no higher.”

“Seventeen and a half.” I ground my heel in the dust a little at that.

“Fine, but you’ll be paid after I collect.” He grimaced, but weighed his options between picking up small change from travelling farmers for a month, or getting 17.5g of silver all in probably a week’s time. We shook hands and the deal was sealed. His hand was like a limp fish, cold and clammy. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Obi.” He said

“Mine’s Jordan. We’ll meet right here tonight at dusk. Safer travelling at night.” I said. He nodded and ran off down the street. My horse, Cormac,  was tied up around the back of the building I’d torn the poster off of. It was a post office of some kind, being a courier was probably a more dangerous job than the one I had. I stuffed the poster in my back pocket and wandered around to Cormac. He was a light brown, and getting a little too old for the bounty chasing business. His mane was scraggly, and his tail wasn’t much better. Most animals that had survived the nuclear exchange ended up that way. Mine was born after all that, but had just gone and wandered through a radioactive crater once, and gotten cancer for all his trouble. Stupid damn horse. I untied his lead and lead him towards the inn in town. Du Side Village was a smallish little cartel town, run by a bunch of criminals, but not one with a bounty on them unfortunately. It had a post office, an inn, an old abandoned-looking church, a saloon, a general store, and about a hundred little farmer’s huts.

Cormac whinnied and stomped as I approached. He bore on his back as nice a saddle as money could buy, molded just for my arse and my arse alone. It also came with a holster on each side, one of which held my old russian KS-23. A monster of a shotgun, it was probably made for killing elephants, vehicles, or large buildings, but it worked just fine on people. The other saddle was empty, someone had gone and stolen my rifle a few towns back. I reminded myself again to keep a better eye on my stuff. The inn looked like a renovated brothel, with clearly ‘post-nuclear holocaust’ extensions on the sides. I tied my horse outside, Cormac wouldn’t let himself be stolen, and listened for a moment. It was silent inside. I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d probably have to sleep outside if there was fighting or drunkards around. People, as a general rule, didn’t appreciate it when I shot the townsfolk. So I unsaddled Cormac, and lowered the brim of my hat to hide my face, saddle slung over my shoulder.

As I was discussing getting a room with the innkeeper, I saw three men walking over from the corner of my eye. I quickly paid and walked up to my room, but they watched me the whole way. Bits of plaster from the ceiling rained down on me as I stomped up the stairs, my boots thudding soundly against the suspiciously bendy wood stairs. I walked down a hallway of doors, and took the third one on my left. There was an old rotting mattress, a broken lightbulb, and a horrible odor, but at least I probably wouldn’t be shanked in my sleep like if I slept outside.

I immediately threw the mattress to the side and laid Cormac’s saddle blanket on the ground. He probably had fewer fleas than the mattress did. I laid down on it and lowered my hat over my eyes, passing into sleep.

***

I felt a hand in my pocket. I kept perfectly still as I felt someone stealthily root around in my jacket. Slowly opening one eye, I could see a dark form just above me, and my Colt .44 still next to where I slept. Not a very smart thief I guess. I burst into motion, kicking him off and grabbing my gun simultaneously. He stumbled backwards and fell on his ass, I thumbed the hammer on my gun back and fired without a second thought. His head snapped back and for a split second I could see him in the muzzle flash, a look of desperate horror in his eyes. He hit the floor with a drippy sounding thud. I paid him no second thought. I had to get out of town. Now.

No sooner had I finished rolling the saddle blanket and buckling my belt back on than a hefty looking figure kicked down the door. Two others followed him, one carrying a lantern, all of them holding pistols of some sort.

“So you went and shot poor Barbal.” He said as he rolled the corpse over with a foot. “Now why’d you have to shoot little Barbal of all people? He never meant nobody any harm.” He grinned a filthy smile at me through his thick beard, but I kept my mouth shut. These were the same men who had followed me before, they’d been waiting for an excuse to off me all day. Pleading innocence would do me no good here. The two men behind him drew back the hammers on their pieces. Mine was still hanging on my hip. Gotta think fast.

“I guess you caught me,” I said, trying to buy a little time, “Must’ve had me pinned for a killer from the moment I walked in, I saw you three following me just before.” The three of them started to look a little less smug and a little more eager to just kill me. “So I know you three, but who is he?” I leaned to look around them, as if there were someone there. To my misfortune, only the two in the back turned to look. Their ‘leader’ I suppose, narrowed his eyes and raised his piece. So I threw my saddle at him.

He fired wildly, the bullet spraying splinters from the ceiling, both men in the back swung back around to fire as well. I rushed forward and pushed their leader back into them, shoving two of them out the door, which I slammed shut. The last man in the room fired at me, somehow missed, then got my own bullet through his shoulder as I fired quickly in the dark. He collapsed screaming as bullets tore through the door at me. I scooped my saddle back off the floor and rushed at the far wall. As I had hoped, it easily shattered before my blind rush. Unfortunately, I was charging out from the second floor, and the ground rushed up to meet me. I landed with a woomph! as the wind was knocked from my lungs. I had rolled over, trying to catch my breath, when more shots skimmed the ground around me.

The two I hadn’t shot were firing at me from the hole I’d made, and at least two more standing in front of the inn had decided to join in. Not sure if they were even with the other two, might’ve just thought it was a good idea to play shoot the white guy today. I scrambled to my feet, my old military boots kicking up dust as I clenched my saddle and sprinted into the night. I ran through the town, not that there was much there, but it was enough to lose whoever was chasing me. I looped around the town and made my way to the old church. I could keep a lookout from its tower and make a break for it when the coast was clear… hopefully. I was unlatching the door when I heard a shout.

“Hey is that him?!” I could barely see a figure pointing and shouting from the saloon. At least six or seven other figures began running my way. I cursed softly, but still made my way inside. They’d somehow gotten more people to join their posse, also they knew exactly where I was. I holstered my .44 and drew my old russian KS-23 from it’s place in the saddle I carried. There were still rows of pews in the church, though it looked mostly abandoned, and several were tipped on their sides or broken. I pushed a few of these in front of the door as quickly as I could, and rested my gun against the top of one some rows back from the front. I aimed my sights straight towards the door.

I heard shouting and approaching footsteps from outside.

“Is he in there?”

“Hell if I know. Why don’t you check?”

“F*** you, why don’t you check?”

“Shut up!” A voice commanded above the rest “If he is in there, he definitely knows we’re here now. You! Get the door open.” I assumed this was the man I’d encountered in the inn.

“But I-” The indicated man started.

“If you don’t want to do it, I’m sure we can get someone else to. After I’ve shot you in the God damned skull.” The commanding voice said. The doors shook a little as the man he’d chosen tried to push them open. Then pushed harder, making the heavy doors rattle against the pews I’d stacked there.

“I think he’s got them jammed.” The man said.

“Well then I guess you’d better push a little harder.” Their leader sneered. A few of the other men laughed. There was a heavy grunt, then the door slowly started to squeak open. I could barely see a crack through the door when I fired. BLAM! The report rattled the church and tore a massive chunk from the door. Several men on the other side yelled, but the one I’d shot uttered nothing ever again. I cranked the action and ejected the shell. I slid in a fresh one; it only had a 4 round mag, I had to keep up on reloading. As I readied my shotgun again, I became aware that the commotion on the opposite side of the door had ceased. There was no sound in the enveloping darkness.

There was a series of clicks from the other side of the door. I recognized this sound as the drawing back of hammers. I went mostly deaf as the roar of my pursuers guns tore the door to pieces. I dove to the ground, bullets whizzing around me in every direction. My hat flew off as a stray slug slapped through the brim. Several pews were reduced to splinters, and the doors hung loosely on their hinges. The gunfire stopped as suddenly as it had started, and the soft tinkling of brass took it’s place as they ejected their spent cartridges. Time seemed to slow as I rose over the balcony. Not one of them had saved a single round, and none but their leader was ducked for cover. One looked up--horrified--as I sighted my gun at the exposed men. I loosed two rounds through the door, and four of the six men in the doorway flew writhing to the ground. The other two dove out of the way before I could get a shot off.

I ducked back into cover and drew instead my Colt as I heard cylinders snapping back shut, and slid my KS-23 back in it’s saddle. I peeked above the pews once more. A bullet tore a chunk out of the wood right next to my head. I scrambled on my hands and knees to relocate as more slugs blasted through the seats. I fired twice, blindly, over the top and heard a yell. I didn’t think I hit anyone, but hopefully it scared them. I crawled back to where I’d been and peeked through one of the bullet holes. All but one of the men were hiding behind cover, I crawled quickly to a new location, opposite the side which he was looking for me. I popped up and fired two quick shots, barely missing with both. He screamed loudly and dove to the ground. As I ducked down again, one of the men and their leader ran into the church and ducked behind the forward pews. I didn’t see the man I’d missed, I think he ran. Only two to go. I crawled on my hands and knees, splinters stuck in my knees and palms.

“Shove ‘em forward!” There was a sharp pain in my side as the pews slammed against me, trapping me between them. “Move up! Kill that asshole!” Their leader roared and charged down the aisle, his last man close behind. I struggled to push several rows back enough to raise my pistol. They still didn’t know where I was, but they were closing fast. With one final effort, I forced a gap large enough to get my shooting hand back out of, turned, and raised my pistol. It was immediately kicked out of my grip by the heavy boot of captain jackass himself.

I cried out as he stomped hard on my hand, and one of my knuckles shifted out of place. Sweat dripped down on me from his bushy beard. He pushed the gun in my eye. “Say goodnight cowboy!”

Click.

Guess he hadn’t reloaded. I grabbed the bottom of his boot and yanked it to the side. He collapsed heavily against the seats. The other man fired at me twice from the other side of the church. One bullet missed, the other skimmed my shoulder, drawing an alarming amount of blood before I took cover again. The man I’d taken out was on his feet and, scrambling for my gun, still lying under a pew where he’d kicked it. I quickly lept to my feet again, ignoring the bullets whizzing by, and kicked him in the side of the knee as hard as I could. There was a meaty crack as the joint collapsed beneath him. I could barely hear it over his scream. I dove over him at my gun, cranked back the hammer, turned, and shot once at the man on the other side of the church. His head snapped back as his grey matter covered an old mural behind him. Blood dripped like tears down Mary’s face.

Captain jackass here was crawling away down the aisle. I quickly ran over and stomped on the back of his knee again. Then put a boot on his windpipe to silence his wailing. His eyes cried for mercy, and his lips pleaded silently. I gave him a bullet.

I tore a strip of fabric off his shirt to bind my shoulder, and quickly reloaded my now empty revolver after straightening my dislocated knuckle back into place. I didn’t want to be caught off guard by another party investigating the shootout. I took all the ammunition and firearms off the bodies of the dispatched men, they’d sell for a pretty penny. I also took a charming leather hat off of one of the men outside, to replace my now bullet-ridden one. I scooped my saddle off the floor, and left the blood to stain the walls of the church.

***

I walked back into town. Citizens stared wide eyed at me, probably terrified I was coming for them next. I winced in pain from my shoulder as I laid the saddle back on Cormac. Not a person dared approach me as I rode to meet Obi by the post office.

“You’re late!” He said with a s***-eating grin. “I don’t suppose it’s because of what’s just happened at the old the church eh? You have anything to do with that?” He knew damn well what had just happened, I was pretty sure everyone in the whole damn town knew.

“Just get on the damn horse.” I scowled down at him as menacingly as possible, but to no avail. Still grinning, he jumped up behind me. We rode out of town as quickly as possible. I guessed I’d never be coming back there again, but hopefully I’d never have to. I had a lot of other places to be. I had a bounty to hunt.