Bounty: Greed

This is one of my first published works that I got paid for! I was so excited that someone believed in something I wrote to actually invest money in it! It appeared in Issue 6 of Gathering Storm Magazine. Don't worry if you've never heard of them, they are a now defunct magazine.

Greed. I hated Greed. It was what got me into this mess in the first place. Maybe I should give you some context.

I was in the New Mexico territory. It was the first of July, 1850. I was there tracking down a man in a yellow suit. He was heading West, no doubt towards California. He smelled it. Hell, I smelled it. Human avarice. That bastard musta been salivating.

I had caught wind of him in a small township. No name, not much more than a few ranches, a saloon, and a few other businesses. It was a decent-sized settlement, could have grown up to be a full-fledged town, even. Leastways had a decent whorehouse. Always a good sign. One hundred men, women, and children. Hard-working, God-fearing folk.

That's how it was. Now? I found a ghost town with one man sobbing himself to sleep on a pile of other's belongings. He raved at me about a yellow-eyed, yellow suited man who came to town. How he was to blame. I put a bullet between his eyes because the fact is, Greed whispers but you choose to listen. It's a fact I'm all too familiar.

I put a torch to the settlement. No one need wonder what drove these people to kill one another.

Like I said, I knew where he was headed. West. He was leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Abandoned settlements with bodies bearing bullet, arrow, tomahawk, or knife wounds. Whatever survivors I found, I killed. It was a mercy. I've lived a long time with my guilt, so believe that death is a kindness.

I knew he'd passed through the settlement, the minute I saw it. Barely even a settlement. Three farmsteads. The first two were empty, except for bodies. I approached the last one cautiously, knowing I would find the survivor there most likely. Imagine my surprise when I found two.

"You ain't takin' it from me, Ma!" said a strapping young man of probably fifteen years. He had a toned body from years spent toiling on a frontier farmstead. There was a coldness in his eyes as he regarded his mother. He held a pitchfork in his white-knuckled hands.

"Now, Adam, don't you be talkin' back to me. I'll not stand for it. You slithered outta my womb into this world and, as God is my witness, I can take you right back outta it. Just ask your sister, Libby." His mother favored him with a frozen smile. She menaced him with a shotgun.

I pulled my Colt Dragoon from its holster and kicked in the door. Both mother and son turned toward me in shock. The mother's eyes widened when she saw my six-shooter and she began to bring her shotgun to bear.

"Don't," I said. I never really wasted time pleading with people. Just gave them the one word and hoped they’d listen.

She didn't, so I put one in her chest. The Colt Dragoon was a huge pistol, a veritable behemoth of a gun, and I dare not aim at her head. Not with her son looking on. I had a tendency to be cold-blooded but I wasn't a sadist.

I turned towards Adam, my gun hand swinging in line. He was still staring at his mother's body, his mind working to register what happened, I'd wager. "Boy!" His eyes snapped up to me. "Yellow-eyed man come through these parts?"

"Why should I tell you, Mister? You done killed my Ma!"

"Be smart, boy! I'm still holding a gun."

His eyes darted to my gun. It was intimidating and I knew it. "He left here two hours ago," Adam stuttered. "Whatchya going to do with me, mister?"

"You kill anyone, boy?"

He looked at me with true fear in his eyes. Soon there would be sadness, I knew. He was the last one standing but that sure wasn't a good place to stand. A frog croaked somewhere nearby, breaking the spell that held him silent. "No."

I nodded. I was fair certain he was telling the truth. Not completely, but enough that I felt he could live. "I ain't gonna do nuthin'." I turned and left.

I ran out of the door and jumped on my horse. Two hours? I was so damned close; I could almost feel the satisfaction of putting a bullet in the smarmy bastard. While I rode, I pulled out my other gun. It was a Sam Colt original, crafted just for me. While it was modeled after the Colt Dragoon that I wore on my hip, it was larger and more intricately designed. The barrel, etched with runes, made it a sight more durable and accurate than its predecessor. The inside of the barrel and chambers were enspelled to withstand great heat as to prevent warping. A fire spirit was slaved to the hammer of the gun, no need for a strike plate, ignition never failed. The true genius of the gun were the bullets it was designed to fire. The rounds he made were all one unit. No need for gunpowdering and wadding the chamber. The bottom of each round was made of a cloth that the fire spirit would easily eat through. Each other chamber was shielded from the fire by a trick of design and magic. Loading took moments instead of minutes.

Colt never disappointed.

I caught up to my quarry about six miles out of the next settlement. I was glad that one was a good-sized town, Gehenna. Not a nice name, I know, but this was the West. It was a mining town. Only good whorehouse, within one hundred miles now. It was good to save prostitutes.

There he was, plain as day. He had taken his ease among some rocks, set up some cloth over one for a makeshift table and was drinking tea. He smiled at my approach. "I had a feeling that you were behind me. You like the new meat suit?"

Several bullfrogs croaked, as if to laugh at his joke.

"Don't say that I do. But it does fit you, I just reckon I don't like you." I never really paid attention to the body, he took people over at random, so his look always changed. Only thing that remained the same was yellow eyes and yellow suit.

"Come now, Cain, where would you be if it wasn't for me? Certainly not as famous as you are!" His voice was a high-pitched, nasal whine.

"Oh, you’re right there. The world would have forgotten me as anything more than a footnote. I'da died a good man with a good brother." I pulled my gun out.

"Now, now, what's the rush?" Greed guffawed. "Except to the West... the Gold Rush!" He slapped his knee, almost bent double in laughter.

"I knew it was California that had you salivating like a dog at suppertime. But you know how this ends, so go ahead, let’s palaver, if'n you think it'll do you a lick a good." I looked him hard in the eye.

“Man’s doomed. Let’s just talk straight.” Greed sniffed diffidently.

“What’s that gotta do with you and me?”

“Come on, Cain. We been doing this dance a long time, why don’t you just put it in the ground.” That rotten smile was plastered across his face.

“We’ve been doing this ‘dance’ because you whispered in my ear, told me that I wanted what my brother had. And I thought I did… I know better now.”

“Knowing better now doesn’t do you a spit of good back then, now does it?”

I ignored his jibe. “Plannin’ on whisperin’ to some prospectors?”

“What do you care? Most aren’t even close to honest men!” Greed sneered at me.

“I’ll not debate you on that. Truth be told, don’t matter none to me. Men will be men. I reckon I just don’t like you. I like bein’ in your way.” I gave him a cold smile that he failed to recognize as a promise.

"Well—"

I drew my Colt and put a bullet in that yellow-eyed bastard in the span of that word. Sins are hard to kill but the Colt did its job. I hit him right through the eye, clean shot, and from the bullet hole a spiderweb of reddish-orange veins extended. I watched with no little sense of satisfaction as those veins spread throughout the body, eventually consuming it from the inside out.

"Well, that wasn't at all fair!" said that all-too-familiar voice to the accompaniment of a chorus of bullfrogs.

I whirled. I saw another yellow-eyed, yellow suited bastard. I swore under my breath, one of the most colorful oaths I knew. My Colt blazed like a dragon as I took him center mass. He dissolved like his partner, so much dust blowing in the wind.

"I really wish—"

I was ready. Bullet took him through the heart.

"Cain, can we just—"

Through the head.

"Will you stop—"

The throat.

Before I could get back into cover, a slug tore through my shoulder. It was like a wildfire had been lit under my skin. I grunted and skidded to the ground behind a rock. If my math was right, there were two more of them bastards. The wound wasn't bad, it would heal given time, but it was in my gun arm and had wedged into the joint at my shoulder. I was a lousy shot with my off hand. I took out my knife and dug out the slug. Didn't have time to be careful, just jab and dig, so I was mighty proud that I only hollered a little while.

"Sounds like that was decently painful," Greed said.

"A damn sight less painful than what I did to yer pardners," I said, my accent thickening in my pain.

"You can't win, you know. Even if you kill us, we'll just be back."

"Not tryin' to kill the ocean, just tryin' to stem the tide."

"How's that going for you?"

"Pretty good. Got five a you sons a bitches dead to rights."

"You had a good run, Cain. But isn't enough, enough? Just throw out your gun and surrender."

"You're right! I give up," I said, throwing my Colt over the rock. I could almost hear him anticipating shooting me again.

I stood up and immediately threw my knife, coated in my blood, at the one further back. Knives, I had been using for centuries and I was a damn sight more accurate with them, even with my off-hand. My blood acted as a poison, had ever since I was brought low by this immortal curse, and the yellow suited bastard fell to the ground, spasming hard enough to break his own back. The last incarnation of Greed barely registered this as I drew my other gun in my off hand and fanned the hammer once more. Three hit, three missed.

I dropped my Dragoon back in its holster and picked up my magic Colt. The last one had fallen and was coughing blood.

"You only had one bullet left." He coughed up blood.

"Yeah, the ones I hit you with won't kill you," I said pointing my Colt at his head. "This is the one that kills you..."

"You were always the dumber brother."

“History is always kinder to the dead. Abel and I, we weren’t much different. Coulda easily been his ear you whispered in as mine.”

I pulled the trigger.

I appreciate the read! Please, don't hesitate to message me here. As always, any tips are greatly appreciated!