South Fork Letter About Action

Marshal: estarrion
Adventure Date: 5 Jun, 2020
Written By: Elijah Murray
Characters: Coinneach MacIntyre, Elijah "Old Man" Murray, Shun Qiaohe, and Solomon Mao

Dear Abigail, know I haven’t written to you in a while, but, well, figured you had better things to do than read the letters of a doddering old man about which fleabag boarding house he slept in this week and what odd jobs he was able to find. I mean, you got John and Claire and all the others keeping you company, and I’m sure little Aldin is still a handful even these days. Still, some shit stuff went down, Abby, and I really need to talk to somebody about it. I need to talk to you about it.

I’d pulled into Brimstone all of three days before it happened. Moment you heard the name you probably started shaking your head. Can’t exactly blame ya. Not the kinda place you settle down with a family. Well, if you got any brains in your head, and that’s assuming they don’t get blown out by some liquored up fool with a shooting iron bigger than his johnson and something to supposedly prove. Still, it's got the rock, and the rail, and well, without the farm anymore, punching cattle’s the best way I have to earn a few dollars somewhere before I eventually move on that doesn’t involve my own trigger finger.

Yeah, I know that exact look you're giving me right now, Abby, so I suppose you can guess that the reason I’m writing you again is because I did end up using that trigger finger. Still, before I get on with it, place ain’t a total lawless Sodom and Gomorah. I was able to ride in just fine, and go about my business. Got dirty looks for a good bit, but that’s the norm most places nowadays. Still, most ain’t exactly the kinda folk I’d like backing me up in a firefight, with a few exceptions. Mainly because I’ve seen them in action.

I can hear you judgin’ Abby, but I didn’t just go askin’ around if some sumbitch person needed to get filled full of lead. There was a notice. The sheriff of a town called South Fork , up north, ‘bout a days ride by train, had apparently gone rogue and started shooting the townspeople he was supposed to be protecting. Could you honestly expect the man you married to just ignore that? I’d have gotten on that train even if it hadn’t been paying over a month’s wages for a short manhunt.

Like I was saying, I didn’t end up going by myself. Three men took the job too. One was a scott by the name of Coinneach MacIntyre, honest to God kilt and everything, if you’ll believe me, and yeah, I’ve got no idea if I spelled that right either. He’s a bounty hunter by trade, though he’s more talkative than most manhunters I’ve met before, even if he ain’t an outright blabbermouth, unlike our old neighbor Agnes. Quick with a joke and good at putting people at ease, and he clearly knows what he’s doing. Damn Darn good shot with that Winchester of his too.

Another fella with me went by the name of Shun. Odd sort that one. Spoke English without a single problem, dressed, well, like me, really, but had this look like every single thing he saw was brand new and fascinating. I’d chalk it up to youth or something, but he looked to be about John’s age, not some kid. Superstitious too. Kept on ramblin’ about curses, and magic and fate. I mean, the Lord’s out there probably, but anything else is just a load of... I dunno, I just can’t a bead on him. Still, I’ve seen him do things, Abby. Man got stabbed in the gut and didn’t even flinch. It didn’t even go in! Just flexed his muscles and sent it off to the side without a single drop of blood before decking the bastard man who did it like nothin’ happened. Remember those silly dime novels Willy read about those kung-fu masters out in the Maze? Well, I’m startin’ to think not all of those were just the authors blowing smoke. Said it was all about “chi” or something like that.

That brings me to the last member of our group. Another Chinese fella and another one of those kung-fu fighters, this one going by the name Solomon Mao. Youngest of us, but real calm-like that one. Good eye, quick on the uptake, and good with his hands, both with using them to tinker with and repair things and with using them to clock somcieone a good foot taller than him out cold with a single punch. If I’m gonna be frank, he’s probably the one I like the most, though none of them seem like bad folk. I’m gettin’ ahead of myself, though.

We took the train out to South Fork and arrived just in time to catch the tail end of a funeral. Six graves all clearly recently dug with the place’s mayor, a fella going by Hartley, presiding over the service. Good chunk of folk weren’t happy to see us, and I can’t exactly blame ‘im. If a bunch of strangers had just walked in on a funeral I sure as Hell would have been pissed, wouldn’t have been whistling Dixie and saying hello all pleasant like. Plus, the entire place felt… Off. Like I was being watched by something just out of the corner of my eye or something. Puts folk on edge.

Anyhow, mayor took us back to his place after the service was done and gave us the skinny. Ex-Sheriff Sawyer had gone loco, apparently. Had always apparently been a bit of a hardass strict law and order man, but a few weeks back he’d suddenly gotten a lot worse. Tossed a fella into the hoosegow just for spittin’ on the sidewalk. And then one day, I apologize for the grisly details, but you need to know, he just straight up executed a drunk in the middle of the street… And five other people afterward, including two innocent women. I’m not gonna lie, Abby, the exact moment I heard that I decided was going to kill the sumbitch man. I was not going to let someone like that live. Told the mayor my opinion on that, more or less, but he claimed Sawyer was good people and that he deserved to be heard out. It was honestly for the best that Coinneach decided to take over the talkin then and there. Promised we’d try to bring him in alive. I had about zero confidence of that happening at the time.

Speakn’ of grisly details, the lawdog had swapped out his old .38 for a Peacemaker which fired bullets that burned each person he shot half to ash before they even hit the dirt. Only way I could figure was it was modified with one of them newfangled Infernal Devices powered by ghost rock. I know Will never talked about ‘em in his letters, but they had flamethrowers on the battlefields back east.Some egghead figuring out how to pack that into a bullet don’t sound so far fetched. In retrospect though, as we were all talkin’ about it, the rest had clearly started coming to the conclusion that something was up with that hog’s leg, especially Shun.

Still, we didn’t linger on it, and once we found out that Sawyer’s four deputies chased after him and he’d holed himself up in an abandoned mine with enough dynamite to blow himself and anybody else to kingdom come, we decided on how we were gonna handle the manner. Solomon and I went to investigate the lawman’s house to see if we couldn’t find a reason he’d snapped, while Shun and Coinneach went to the local wateringhole to talk with the man’s deputies, then we’d meet up and ride out for him in the morning.

On our way to the Sawyer residence Solomon and I noticed the local undertaker, You remember that old joke about the only difference between the average undertaker and his clients was that one of them was still walking? I think the joke was written about him. We tried to get any info about the deceased from him, but it was like trying to get water from a stone. Can count the times he gave an answer that wasn’t more than a single word on one hand. Figured he was a dead end and we’d talk to the doc instead later. After that we got to work combing Sawyer’s place. Two rooms looked completely normal, but the last one looked like a Kanas twister had rolled through. Solomon noticed that there was a blackened section near one of the windows, about a few feet of completely burned away wood, no more, no less. It was at that point I was damn real sure that this was some kinda modified ghost rock contraption and not a normal gun. And when we followed the path of the bullet we didn’t even find any lead, just a char mark.So hot bullets melted. Definitely the rock.

Now, while this was going on, and this is second hand, so sorry if I get something wrong, Coinneach and Shun had gone to South Fork's one saloon, where the townsfolk were holding an Iriish wake. Coinneach went over to the table of the four deputies, Shun in toe, and talked with ‘em. He managed to suss out that the folks that got shot apparently bled black, congealed blood when struck, a fact that apparently had at least one of the deputies mighty perturbed. I think it was the pale, skinny one who didn’t like admitting that fact, but it could’ve been the tall, fat one. Wasn’t there and all. What I do know is that by the time Solomon and I came in one of the fancy ladies saloon girls was flirting with Shun and Coinneach. Now South Fork is a lumber town, and some liquored up lumberjacks didn’t take kindly to that and started a fist fight.

You’ll be happy to know I didn’t throw a single punch. No, Abby, I’m serious, Two of their number had been killed by Sawyer, and Lord knows I understand what it’s like to be pickled and pissed after feeling helpless. Managed to convince one of them to vamoose instead. ‘Course, that didn’t stop the rest of them that started the fight from swinging and it didn’t stop the rest of our posse from ending the fight. That was where I saw just how impressive Solomon and Shun were in a fist fight. Solomon took out three by himself without taking a scratch and that's when Shun did that trick with the knife after one idiot tried to escalate it by pulling a blade.

Deputies decided to get up and do something only after every lumberjack except the one with enough sense to vamoose were unconscious on the floor. While they were up to that Coinneach managed to sweet talk one of the deputies, Olaf was his name, and found out the sheriff found is new piece in an old box in the courthouse, apparently a bit of evidence inherited by the lawman who served before him, and got him to agree to let him see the box in the morning. After that we turned in for the night, intent on the rest of us asking the local doc about the wounds and the black blood in the morning while Coinneach dealt with the deputies.

The doctor, as it turned out, was seemingly a dead end. He claimed to have not noticed anything odd about the bodies, that there weren’t any bullets in them, and more or less told us to vamoose. I even tried to lean a bit heavily on the man, and no, I wasn’t actually gonna hurt him, but got nothin.’ Frankly, I was just happy to get out of his office, place utterly stunk of cleaning chemicals. Luckily, the other two fellers picked up just how odd that was and we stormed back in. Solomon got the doctor to spill the beans out the black blood. Kinda stuff you’d find on a long dead body. That’s when Shun started talking about the “walkin’ dead.” Truth is, that was about the time I started thinking the man was full of it. I mean, how in God’s name is “the undead” a more reasonable conclusion than a newfangled gun made by some scientist causing some kinda weird chemical reaction?

Speaking of the gun, a little bit after we left the doc’s Coinneach came back with a box and a note. I ain’t gonna copy it word for word, but, Abby, it amounted to the owner swearing he was going to track down and plug every last one of those bastards who dared to murder the woman who gave his life meaning, consequences be damned.

I don’t think I need to elaborate any more on the matter.

We rode out to the cave where Sawyer was held up, and if you wouldn’t believe it, he’d actually apparently sealed himself in. We sure as Hell Heaven couldn’t find any other way in, so we spent a few hours diggin’ out an entrance. In retrospect, uh, yeah, any chance on us sneaking up on the man kinda went south right then and there. Caves were dark and, sure enough, filled with several trip wires connected to bundles of dynamite. Thankfully, though Shun and I both took a nasty fall, nobody set off any of the traps, and Solomon managed to disarm each and every one of ‘em along the way until we finally found our man.

And Abby, he was… Not what I expected. I expected to stumble upon a cackling, bloodthirsty monster, or at best a clearly deranged man off in his own insane world. What I found was a pathetic, terrified wretch that looked like he was afraid of his own shadow hiding in the dark, gulping down cold canned food like a desperate animal.

Abby, I wanted to shoot that man. I gave my word that I’d try to bring him back alive, but all I had to do was take a few steps forward and he’d shoot first. Anybody with eyes could see that. He was a cornered animal, he’d lash out. I’d be able to put a bullet in a man who murdered a bunch of innocent folk who were just minding their business. He was by another pile of dynamite, but I’m a quick draw and Coinneach had managed to split off from us a bit and get into a sniping position. But, I didn’t. Something just felt wrong, he looked...In need and I just hung back and let Solomon and the rest talk. I’d lost my nerve.

Sawyer said the folks he’d gunned down were demons. That the gun made him see the truth. So he was crazy. That’s what I’d thought. It made sense, I’ve heard ghost rock vapors can fry a man’s brain, and that gun had to be new science of some sort. But good Lord, Abigail, the man was clearly sick. So I just stood back and let the others talk to Sawyer about how he was a good man, and he could make things right, and how they could take him to see somebody that could break the pistol’s curse. Honestly, couldn't tell whether they really believed it, were just humoring the sheriff, or a mix of both, but regardless, he was too far gone, and he seemed to know it. Eventually we all just went forward, don’t know what we were all actually gonna do, honestly, not even myself, but that was all he needed to set off his dynamite and bring the roof down on him.

Sawyer was dead and I didn’t feel any satisfaction about that fact.

We dug out the body to give it a burial, and that’s when we saw that pistol. Solomon took the box from me and scooped it up without touching the damned cursed thing. Boys ending up talking about how we needed to blow that gun to smithereens. Apparently they were serious about thinking the thing had some bad mojo, and paranoid enough to think collapsing a cave and putting it at ground zero for an entire case of TNT was the only way to be sure. I just gave up arguing after a little bit. Was too tired. And you know me, Abby, that says a lot when I don’t feel like arguing a point with people talking nonsense. So Solomon set something up, we got out of the mine, and collapsed the entire thing in on itself.

Good riddance.

Unsurprisingly, an explosion drew some attention, and two of South Fork's deputies came running. I figured we’d tell them about this bloody business, head back to the mayor, and all just try to forget about it.

That was when Solomon whipped out a knife, slashed one of the deputies palms, and saw black blood.

Before I could even ask what in God’s name Solomon was doing that deputy CHANGED, Abigail. He was a pale man, but in front of all of us his skin began to wither and decay. He started to stink to high heaven. His hands changed to claws. The kinda claws that could cut a man down to the bone and rip him to shreds And I swear there was something just, well, just evil in his cold, dead eyes, Abby. Knowinging, willing, unrelenting evil.

I didn’t even think. I just pulled out my pistol and blew the thing’s brains out on pure instinct.

Next thing I know we were swarmed by the walking dead. One of the soiled doves, the undertaker, the doctor, they were all dead, Abby. Dead men walking. Dead men with claws and guns who wanted to do nothing more than to put us in the ground they should’ve been in.

Everything that followed was a blur. I remember taking cover and unloading every single shot of my six shooter into those things and it barely doing nothin’ most of the time. I remember Coinneach popping heads with that Winchester every few seconds, Solomon moving like a whirlwind with those swords of his, and Shun showing off he knew his way around a shotgun too. I remember the other deputy tried to help us too, but he took a bullet to the chest and died choking on his own blood. Shun took a round as well but barely kept himself conscious. I managed to cover his retreat. Got into a knife fight with the last of the things long enough to distract it and then Solomon finished it off.

After that we marched straight to the doctor’s office and tore it apart. There was this glowing green liquid hidden in it. Some kind of new mad science that can make a dead body act like it’s “alive.” Like that one book about the stitched together man you liked. Abby, I ain’t a luddite, but that shit ain’t right. Not at all. We burned every single last drop.

Then we had to explain everything to the mayor. To the whole town. And somehow, only God knows how, I ended up being elected to try to tell everybody everything with the others chiming in every now and then. I, well, I didn’t lie, Abby, but I sure didn’t tell the whole truth or my whole opinion. Said that Sawyer realized what was going on the entire time. That he was a perfectly sane man. A good man. A hero. And that we finished his work.

We got our $50 and got on the train.

I didn’t say a word for the whole ride back.

I dunno what to think, Abby. I just don't know. I mean, those walkin’ dead were made by some kinda twisted mad science, that much I know. But that gun. I’m not saying it was cursed, that’s ridiculous. It couldn’t be. A man don’t need to be under no curses to do evil, it’s just an excuse he tells himself. Because if that was true then a man ain’t even got control over his own self. And a man doing what needed to be done shouldn’t make something evil like that if the things did exist either. But, Abby, SOMETHING changed him even if he didn’t want it. I saw the man, I have eyes. Maybe it was rock vapor, maybe it was his own mind, maybe it was.

And, insane or not, Sawyer had been right. Well, it wasn't demons, but the people he killed really weren’t the people they seemed like. They were monsters. Honest to God monsters. Man-made monsters, but monsters all the same. Monsters that looked just like innocent folk. And Sawyer had been doing the right thing. The man I wanted almost nothing more than to send to boot hill had been in the right. But that don’t make Sawyer no hero either. He was just a sick, desperate man using a gun that had belonged to somebody who’d done exactly what I wanna do, who needed help, and I couldn’t save him either.

I wanted to ride into town, shoot a murder who didn’t have a good reason for what he did, and manage to actually get justice for at least one good person gunned down in cold blood. I got none of that, and a whole can ‘o unanswered questions to add to the pile.

And I just pray to God, if he’s actually listening, that if I ever find the bastard who killed you and everybody else it won’t be anything like this.