Before Gomorrah: Chapter two

Rufford Wadlow, his face obscured by the brim of his coal-black hat, hawked a loogie from the lookout post onto the parched, red earth beyond the fort walls. The thick, sickly, yellowish phlegm sizzled like a frying egg in the blazing sun. He smirked, spying the sheriff and her pack o’ gunslingers approaching on their steeds. They were closing in on the lass holed up in the shack.

“Load up, boys!” Wadlow growled, his voice gravelly from years of barking orders and swallowing trail dust. “They ain’t far off. About a mile out and closing fast!”

Within the stockaded hideout, a band of outlaws bustled with a fevered, determined gait.

“Think we can hold ’em off, Ruff?” questioned one of his crew. “Word is their sheriff’s a woman, but rumors say she ain’t no pushover.”

Wadlow chuckled low. “Women gunfighters these days, eh? Think they can bring down a notorious outlaw like me?”

Sure, he’d caught wind of Sheriff Elvira too, but her skirmishes were with small-fry bandits, nothin’ like his league. Maybe she’d broken up a few hold-ups, cuffed a drunk or two in saloons. But she weren’t fit to step into Marshall Trusdale’s boots—the man he’d faced down and put six feet under himself.

“Should we open fire once they’re in range?”

“Nah,” Wadlow muttered with a sneer. “Let’s see if these fools can dance with my critters first.”

He hocked another glob onto the blistering surface of the hard-packed sand. The thick wad sizzled and wriggled, turning opaque under the relentless sun.

The hoofbeats crescendoed, and the glint of the star-shaped badge on the sheriff’s chest, glimmering through the dusty haze, gave him pause. She weren’t just any law dog; she bore the mark of the Majestic One. That meant he had to tread with care. But Wadlow had his own trick tucked away, a blessing from the Cho’Sek (the Shadows), and it was all part of his snare.

He spat again into the dirt and checked the loading mechanism of his rifle. “We’ll give ’em hell. They won’t know what hit ’em.”

The sheriff and her posse reined up at the gate. Flanking it were poles topped not with mere bovine skulls, but with the dried remains of men, stark reminders of the Chuckwalla Gang’s merciless ways. Yet something nettled him further. At the sheriff’s side stood two young ‘uns: a freckled, fiery-haired lass and a curly-haired blonde, hooded like she belonged in some fairy tale. It rankled him. First, they sent a woman sheriff to face him, an affront in itself. Then, to add insult to injury, they brought along children. Did they reckon Chuckwalla Fort a playpen? Still, for now, he aimed to greet them civil, to drop their guard a mite.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, missy?” Wadlow drawled, tipping his black hat towards his chest in a mock-polite gesture.

“Don’t try to charm me,” Elvira retorted. “We both know this isn’t a social call.”

“A spirited gal,” Wadlow remarked, resettling his hat atop his head. “I admire your gumption already. Better than that last fancy-pants marshal I laid low. North Star Federation, huh? Must make me quite the prize.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Elvira shot back. “Your demise is worth a pittance, just enough for a drink. But bringing your prisoner back safe fetches me 5,000 pesos.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Wadlow chuckled. “The lass’ takin’ a long nap.”

“How long’s she been asleep?” inquired the hooded girl, her voice tinged with worry.

Her features stayed concealed, hidden beneath the shadowed veil of the hood, her eyes cast downward, lending an enigmatic aura to her already captivating presence. Curly locks of blonde spilled out from under the ivory hood, catching the sun’s fleeting glints with their golden hue.

“I ain’t answerin’ to no child,” Wadlow snapped back, his tone bristling with indignation.

“Answer her,” Elvira commanded, her voice unwavering. “How long?”

“I don’t rightly know. Could be days, could be weeks. I ain’t been keepin’ track. We ain’t no darn nursemaids. We’re in the whiskey business, and that feller’s the reason we’re makin’ top-shelf spirits. So, ain’t nobody wakin’ her up, you hear?”

To drive home his point, Wadlow raised his rifle and fired a shot near Elvira’s horse’s hooves. The steed startled, but the sheriff steadied it with calm expertise. The other gunslingers tensed, but Elvira, recognizing the warning shot, ordered them to hold their positions.

“It’s your last warnin’ to turn tail and ride outta here, missy,” Wadlow growled, his voice rough and stern. “Best skedaddle back to where you came from, ya hear?”

The hooded girl sighed heavily. “Don’t be foolish, mister. Your prisoner got Sagacythe poisoning. You know what’ll happen if she slips deeper into her slumber without a cleansing ritual, right?”

“She’s our concern; we got our own doc.”

The blonde girl peeked out from under her hood, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “A doctor? Only a Rishi can manage this.”

Her eyes lit up with a pristine white brilliance that shimmered beneath her cloak, sending a chill through the men standing with Wadlow.

“What?” Wadlow exclaimed. “You some kind of Rishi? No chance I’m lettin’ a Rishi near our honored guest to disrupt our plans. Well then, let the show commence.”

Wadlow let out a sharp whistle through his fingers, signaling the start of the conflict, as thick black clouds filled the sky.

Suddenly, a massive, yellow-tinted, shapeless creature oozed under the red-haired girl’s horse like a shifting puddle, ensnaring the animal’s legs with viscous slime.

“What in tarnation is that!” cried the red-haired girl, her horse in a panic.

The horse stumbled and fell, but the girl managed to scramble away from the sticky substance. The goo engulfed the horse, leaving nothing but a sticky residue behind.

“Welcome to my critters’ feast,” Wadlow chuckled, spitting another glob onto the searing ground. “I can conjure ’em up all day long.”

The spittle swiftly took form, shaping into a creature that lurched toward the red-haired girl. It towered over her, its form seeming to melt, oozing yellowish goo in all directions. One massive, bulging eye stared at her while a smaller, squinting one darted around. Instead of teeth, it had sharp proboscises protruding from its gaping maw.

The red-haired girl quivered, aiming her revolver at the monstrous entity but frozen in fear.

The sheriff shouted, “Remember our drills, Josie! Remember!”