The Strange Saga of Dusty Tom the Gunslinger {Installment Two}

Yessum, them was some strange days on the road. Driving with Doc Hess was like being chased by a pack of wolves on a lame horse.1

Actually, it was like being chased by Bigfoot in an Oldsmobile that's seen too many miles. In fact, that's what it was. The Doc was in no hurry, but Tom was scared out of his mind. Apparently Doc Hess didn't know what that thing was capable of. Tom tried to tell him, once or twice. He tried to tell him about a rusty pistol, and about how you didn't have to shoot someone with it to keep them. He tried to tell him about the Fold, too. 2

But those were details, and he'd been having trouble with details for awhile now. He could recall brief, confusing glimpses of certain things that may or may not be real, but he didn't know.3

"I am Tom," he'd say to himself, "Dusty Tom the Gunslinger."4

That much he did know. The rest would come later.5

"So, where are you from, Thomas?" she leaned over her cup of coffee as she spoke. Her hair fell in her eyes, and Tom thought it was rather purty the way she made no attempt to brush it back again.6

"I'm sorry, miss. Musta been lost in thoughts again. That happens to me sometimes. I don't think much, and when I do it kinda takes me by surprise."7

"That's alright, Thomas. I am patient, but I do ask that my questions be answered."8

She was a right nice looking lil thing. Not the cowgirl type, really, but like the prim and clean womenfolk that'd wander out through the West on their way to California. Tom sat and ate some bacon and a plain bagel while they talked, giving the other fellers at the table the once-over. She called them her 'cabinet', but to Tom they just looked like a bunch of dudes.9

"There I goes," thought Tom, "lost in me thinkin again."10

"I'm from Arizona, originally. Then I was from some other place, and now I reckon I'm from here."11

The Queen's cabinet, for the most part, seemed completely uninterested. It was their job to listen to Tom in some effort to be on congenial and familiar terms with every member of the asylum. That doesn't mean they did, however, and that doesn't mean they were. The Queen held what might as well have been a private audience, had it not been for the observation of Maize. The Duke was perched on the edge of the table, nearly spilling backwards on many occasions, but seemingly content to not take his seat. His eyes were wide and his mouth open as he hung on every word.12

"Now for the important question," said the Queen. "What is it that is following you?"13

"How did she-" Tom began to wonder. But that was a detail. Nothing but a detail.14

"My name is Dusty Tom the Gunslinger," he said, "And I am being chased down by Bigfoot."15

"I knew thats what it was!" yelled Duke Maize. 16

Everyone looked up from their food.17

"Wow!" Screamed Maize, "I MEAN WOW! WOW!" He crawled under the table.18

The cabinet resumed the consummation of brunch.19

"He's been on my trail for awhile," Tom told the Queen. "He's some kinda injun god, so he tracks like an injun. I'd lost him until I took to the trail and came here."20

"Why is he following you?" Elizabeth set down her coffee. The sprites were tittering the answers to her questions in her ear, but she tried to ignore them. An audience is personal, and she wanted to hear him say it himself.21

"He wants to kill me."22

"Why?"23

Tom looked grave for a moment. It seemed like that was another detail; another thing lost in the thick fog of insanity that had enshrouded his life. Yes; that's what it was: a detail. And it's not important. Not important. Not important.24

"It's because you killed him, Tom." Elizabeth reached out and took his hand.25

Tom gasped. "That's right.... I did, didn't I? But he... But he already..." The Gunslinger trailed off, staring down at the hand of the Queen overlapping his own.26

"Here!" Maize popped up from underneath the table and set a steak on a paper plate in front of Tom. "That's your favorite, right? Well done and everything. I mean, you wanted to eat that today, didn't you?"27

"I reckon I did." Steak was not on the brunch buffet. Tom would have seen it. "Where'd you get this from?"28

Maize grinned and perched on the table once more. "I found it on the floor." He watched, still grinning, as Tom gratefully ate his gift.29

Elizabeth glanced at Tom occasionally when she thought he wasn't looking. The faeries didn't have much to say about him, but the things they did know were very strange... And very frightening.30

"He thinks you're pretty." The sprites giggled.31

Elizabeth only smiled as she finished her coffee.32

~~~33

Garett reflected on the tale told to him by Dr. Theodore constantly in the days to come. If he had believed all of it when he was told it, he really may have lost his mind, as Teddy had suggested. 34

He spent that night in the bar, carefully examining a glass of whiskey. The bar was a part of the living quarters, built in the sterile hues of the rest of the facility but still a bar. The alcohol worked, and it was cheap. Early in the night, the day staff would populate the place before they headed off to their respective rooms, and early in the day, the night staff would be present. It was considerably late in the night, however, and Garett was alone.35

He thought of dark rooms and life support. He thought of his superior's voice, cresting over waves of cigar smoke as he spoke. He thought of the vast, lonely woodlands that stood between Swampcrest and the nearest small town that he'd driven through just off the interstate, and why isolation here was essential.36

And that night, after his head had nodded its way slowly into his arms, resting on the barroom table, he dreamed of it.37

~~~38

"We haven't hired new staff in awhile, Garrett. Not since our earlier years, and I'm about to tell you why. But the best place to begin any story is at the beginning. So I guess it'd be best if I start there.39

Swampcrest was even built on strange dirt. The forest was taken forcably by a logging company in the 18th century from a downright weird indian tribe. They were a wetlands people, and they worshipped the power of the swamp and, more than anything, the power of death. They were known for disposing of corpses by letting them sink in the swamp. In the construction of this facility they exhumed quite a few bodies, many of them miraculously preserved. These were given proper burials. Their graves are just outside the east wall. It's a very nice spot to go walking, and I suggest you make your way out there some time.40

Most of Swampcrest's infamy, however, lies in our first patient."41

(At this point Garett interrupted "Elizabeth?" he asked. 42

"No," Teddy responded quickly before continuing, as if hed anticipated the interjection.)43

"We don't know his real name. Any identifying marks were removed from him before he was brought to us. We call him what he calls himself; 'the Ruined'. He has been the most influencial and... powerful patients at Swampcrest.44

The Ruined is kept on life support in the criminal ward. It's feared that if he were to die, he would merely become stronger. He is no longer simply a physical entity, but a kinetic mass of bioelectric energy that may or may not have near omnipresence.45

("So he can achieve out of body meditation?" Garett asked. 46

"Yes, only much more than that," responded Teddy.)47

The Ruined also posesses telepathic powers, the range and potency of which are still being studied. We thought he may be one of a kind until we found out how he was created.48

Someplace had jacked him up bad. He was regularly doused with experimental hallucinagenics for days on end, all in the name of pursuing a recent trend in delerium patients. Of course, you know what that trend is, Garett. It is the reason this facility is here; the study of the sometimes supernatural qualities achieved lately by the insane.49

"Swampcrest was, originally, a very secure and tightly locked-down institute. Most of our early patients were criminal, and the more we studied them, the more we learned to fear them. There were many.... events in the prison half of Swampcrest. Lots of our security personnal were killed, and the place got more and more dangerous as time went on. The one incidence which spurred the most controversy and almost resulted in the revoking of our charter was the only one that involved The Ruined.50

"We hadn't had any trouble with him up to that point. He just lay in his comatose state all day, his conciousness manifesting itself as the occasional disembodied voice or random flash of color. He was kept, at that time, under constant suicide watch. The guards would draw straws to determine who had to do it that night. Watching the Ruined was like running through a spook house full of real spooks, they said. The only person who ever volunteered for the job was Mr. Jakarte.51

"The particulars of exactly what happened have never been determined. Jakarte, who is now a patient here, says he doesn't remember. He recalls entering the room and sitting down, and the next thing he knew he was in the middle of the cellblock, blood running down his arms like rainwater.52

"The security tapes showed Jakarte stand up from his chair next to the Ruined's bedside, crack his knuckles and exit the room. He approached another guard: Mr. Samuels, a nice old man and a good friend of mine during his time here. Jakarte repeatedly bludgeoned Samuels in the face with the bottom of his fist. His strength was bizarre and unnatural. Samuel's head caved in like a melon. Then he moved to the next guard. And the next. And the next after that.53

"He'd been shot four times by tranquilizer darts before the Ruined left him. We keep him now as a criminal patient out of obligation, really. Jakarte suffered a work-related injury, and his mind may never fully recover."54

("So The Ruined possessed him? Like a demon?" Garett whistled. "That's incredible."55

"The events that followed are increasingly incredible, boy. I'll tell you about Elizabeth later, and about why Swampcrest is so much more relaxed and safe than we used to be."  Teddy put out his cigar and-)56

~~~57

that's when Garett awoke. The bartender was in the kitchen, washing that night's scant haul of dirty dishes. 58

Garett had fallen asleep face-down on the table. He looked at his hands, sitting lifeless and numb next to his glass of whiskey as the circulation slowly returned to his fingers and he could swear he saw, only for a moment, a glistening sheen of fresh blood. It wasn't really there, of course; simply the waking product of a nightmare. Dr. Theodore had assured him that Swampcrest was lately a safe place to work, but it certainly didn't feel that way. The empty halls echoed with alien power. It felt strange, and it felt haunted, and Garett wished that he'd heard the other half of the story; the one that was supposed to make him feel comfortable walking from the bar to his living quarters in the dark.59

"Tomorrow I talk to Jakarte," he decided. With that, he rose from the table and meandered out of the room, drunkenly wondering which direction he was supposed to be going.60

Luckily for Garett, he didn't get lost. There were many strange things brewing in the asylum that night.61

~~~62

The woods were dark and empty, for the most part. Empty is, occasionally, not as empty as you'd think. Even in the darkest places; the places that the animals avoid where even the trees are dead, where not a living thing may stir, there is still much movement and hustle and bustle in the shadows.63

"I can't see a damn thing." Black Bart seldom spoke, and when he did it was always a complaint.64

"You don't NEED to see, stupid. Just keep walking." The voice of Eagle Eye the Marksman came from somewhere ahead of the rest of the group.65

Black Bart walked through a tree and stopped on the other side, silently cursing the branches overhead that served to obscure the moonlight. "I know... But I've never been to Montana. I want to see the country here. That's something your kinsman would understand."66

"You should have stayed with them then. Silly old bastards." The assorted injuns of the Fold had made camp by a bluff overlooking the expressway. Eagle Eye had never subscribed to the ritual and superstitions of his people in life or death, and for this reason he had stubbornly continued on without them.67

"They stopped cause they're a-scurred. I'm not scurred, but I bet this place is right pretty when the sun's in on the deal."68

"I don't get it. Wassit they so scared of?" asked Rail Spike Chan. "Is it spirits again?"69

"Yeah. They're scared of ghosts; no joke. They are ghosts afraid of other ghosts." Eagle Eye laughed.70

Black Bart hesitated a moment, ethereal eyes wide in the darkness. "If they're a-scurred, why are we not? What if we do meet other ghosts? Whaddya figure we should do?"71

"Defeat them." Percival's voice was very loud, as always. Its not that he yelled, but the volume of his every announciation seemed intrinsically higher than the rest of the Fold. "Defeat them as you would anything else. Among men and spirits, we are an instrument of destruction." Percival stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, seeing into the energies of the Fold, trying to get a sense of direction. He could feel the natives camped off in the distance. He could feel the Gunslinger tucked neatly away in the center of these wilds. He reached out further, desperately trying to follow the erratic movements of their Keeper. "The Wendigo moves," he said. "We must make haste."72

"You know," said Rail Spike Chan, "Most of us fled the Keeper when he lost the pistol. Why we chase him, hmm?"73

There were a couple groans as they continued to walk. Rail Spike Chan had joined the party as they passed through the Dakotas, travelling all the way from San Francisco to do so. He was the only one who hadn't heard the details of Percival's plan.74

"He is trying to reach the Gunslinger," Percival explained. "He is attempting to bequeath his reign."75

"The Gunslinger?!" Chan tried not to yell. "He's dead! Isn't he? Didn't the Wendigo kill and bury him back when he Kept us?"76

"He's found a vessel."77

For the first time since his death, Chan was worried. He cursed in Mandarin for a bit before reverting to broken English. "What do we, then? What if he wants to Keep us again?"78

"We kill it." Percival sounded grim. "It's going to take all of us, and that is why I called you, Chan. We gather our strength, and we kill it. I will take the Fold once more, and you will all be free to return to your haunts, as it were."79

"Yeah, but what about the Gunslinger? He'll..." Chan struggled to think of an appropriate word, but could not. "He'll kill us," he said, looking to Percival for a response.80

But Percival was silent. Following suite, the Fold filed on through the lifeless dark of the Montana woodlands without making a sound.81

~~~82

"Last call, guys."83

Harold pried his head off of the bar, admiring the way a strand of spit arched gracefully onto the wood where he'd just been resting. The bartender, a fella named Walt, reached over with a dirty rag and quickly dried the spot where his patron had drooled.84

"Whaddya say, Harold? Want one more before you get to bed?"85

Harold silently nodded and laid his head on the bar again, too drunk to keep upright without feeling like he was going to fall backwards off of the barstool.86

Walt poured drinks for two of the three other customers before locking the cash register. He gave Harold water in a shot glass, confident the lush would think it was vodka.87

He drained it without a word.88

Walt switched off the lights behind the bar to discourage any other customers who may want to come wandering in, though the only folk who visited his pub during the week were already inside. Phillip, Jeremy and Jane-Bob, one of the two town dykes, had decided to finish their game of pool before leaving the tavern. Otherwise Walt would have switched off the overheads as well and called it a night. They were almost finished, anyhow. Jane-Bob was taking aim at the eight, preparing to bank it off the opposite side and send it into the corner.89

"Before I sink the eightball, close this deal and run on home, tell me again; why'd you drive your car into a lake, Harold?"90

Phillip and Jeremy tried to keep from laughing.91

Harold struggled to pick his head up off the bar again, his vision swimming in and out of focus and his eyes rolling back in his head as he forced himself to remain concious.92

"Iwas mutter fugking bugfoot's fault."93

"Just leave him alone, alright? Poor guy lost his house and his truck to that accident." Walt pleaded with his customers.94

Jane-Bob dropped the eight effortlessly. "You don't say?" she asked non-chalantly. "How'd bigfoot manage to do all that?"95

Harold wanted to tell her, but he couldn't rightly get the story straight in his mind. "Environment peoples," was all he said.96

Walt shook his head as Harold plopped back onto the bar. "His car sunk into the lake a ways. He had to pay twenty grand to get it towed out. The EPA demanded it. So he sold the trailer."97

"That's too bad," said Phil. "You need a place to stay, Harold?"98

"No, I'm puttin him up," said Walt. "No worries, boys. He'll be fine, right Harold?"99

"Fugking bugfoot," came the muffled response.100

"I don't get it," said Jeremy as he put on his coat. "What's that gotta do with bigfoot? Did he crash into bigfoot or something? That'd be a hell of a haul of roadkill."101

"Yes," said Walt. "Apparently he did. Harold says when they haul his truck back to town he'll be able to prove it to us."102

"No he won't," said Jane-Bob. She smiled her beaten foes. "Have a nice night, boys."103

"Goodnight, Jane-Bob. Nice getting fucked up at pool by you again," said Phillip.104

"Seeya later. Tell the missus I said hiya." said Jeremy.105

"A pleasure as always and will do. Bye, Walt."106

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, drive safe, willya?" said Walt.107

"I hope I don't hit the Loch Ness Monster," said Jane-Bob, laughing.108

A few minutes passed. Phillip and Jeremy left silently, teasing eachother about how the dyke always beat them at everything. Harold slipped out of his stool and half-crawled, half-walked towards the back room where his bed was; a couple of old, but clean mattresses covered in a sleeping bag.109

"Tomorrow," he said, turning his drooping eyes to Walt before he laid down. 110

The bartender looked up from wiping the bar where Harold had been for the thousandth time that night. "What's that Harold?"111

"Tomorrow. It's coming in tomorrow. The truck is. Tomorrow."112

"That's good, Harold...."113

"Yeah. Seeya tomorrow."114

"Goodnight, Harold."115

Walt finished wiping down the bar and the small tables, put a load of glasses in the dishwasher, turned off the lights, and walked into the other back room. The bar was not just a bar, it was Walt's house; one room for him, a bathroom, and a guest room for Harold. He didn't have much living space, and Harold excessively took advantage of Walt's offer of free drinks, but the two had history, and Walt figured he owed his friend that much. Harold was going through a bad stint, and Walt hoped that by the next day, when his truck arrived fresh from the lake bereft of any evidence of 'bigfoot', he'd snap out of it.116