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Seamus, The Belles and the Ortegas - Pt. 1


Hinton

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This is the first part of a story that I'm still working on. I've had to break it into parts because it's turning out to be longer than I had planned.

Please note that I do not speak Spanish. I had to look up most of the words that I used, so if they're wrong - or if the structuring is wrong - then I apologize in advance.

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Seamus stood at the top of the hill, his eyes moving rapidly as he surveyed the ghost town in the valley below. It was more of a way station than a town really: a few buildings, mostly businesses by the look of their fronts, with a couple buildings on the outskirts that may have been homes. He knew that there had been farms in the area in the past, but they had long since dried up and died away, the people moving on to better lands.

Behind him, the Belles stood in the shadow of a large tree, their eyes moving randomly, fixating on nothing.

He knew Killjoy was down there somewhere; he had been following the creature’s path of death and destruction for days. Now he would finally be able to…

Movement on the edge of town drew his attention. He leaned forward slightly, even though he didn’t need to; his eyes saw everything, even though the sun was setting and casting long shadows everywhere.

“Ortegas,” he snarled. From under the tree, the Belles loudly groaned and started shifting from foot to foot. Seamus closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly let it out. The groaning from the ladies quieted. When he was sure that they would stay put, he looked down to the town once again.

If the Ortega clan had shown up that meant that word had finally leaked about Killjoy. Now it would be a damned free-for-all in bringing the monster down. Seamus didn’t mind Killjoy being killed – he planned on doing it himself – but he needed to examine the creature first to see if the government had indeed stolen his process. If so, well…the more bodies the better. He grinned. Yes, so much better.

He reached down and picked up his leather satchel. “My dear ladies,” he said, his eyes still focused on the valley, “we’re going to town.”

As one, the Belles turned to him, a sigh escaping their lips. They knew they would get to feast soon.

* * *

Perdita moved so silently and blended into shadows so well that Santiago didn’t hear or see her move up beside him. Still, his grip tightened on his guns as he sensed someone near him.

“Calm, my brother,” Perdita said, her voice so low that it was barely a whisper.

Sí, mi hermana,” he whispered back. “I just don’t understand why Papa thinks we need to be the ones to bring this monstruo down.”

“Because, mi hermano, we can.” She smiled, her teeth practically glowing in the fading light.

Santiago sometimes wondered if his sister was touched with the same madness that had seemed to infect so many in the world lately. People going crazy, turning into psychotic killers, the dead walking; it was almost enough to drive him insane.

He checked his guns once again and then looked down the street to his right. He could see Francisco moving cautiously from shadow to shadow on the other side of the dirt street, closing in on the building where the monster had obviously entered; the wide trail of blood that led through the broken door left no doubt.

Glancing up, he saw Niño move into position on the roof. To his left, Papa Loco walked right down the middle of the street. While Santiago may have had his doubts about Perdita’s sanity, there were none about Papa’s; the man was completely insane.

Papa Loco walked along the street as though he were out for an evening stroll, twirling his gun in his left hand, a stick of dynamite in his right. A cigar was clenched between his teeth and the glowing end grew bright for a moment as he inhaled.

“Come, niños!” Papa called as he approached the front of the building. “Let us send this criatura desgraciada to Hell!”

Santiago and Perdita looked at each other; this was definitely not the plan. Perdita started to step forward.

“Ortegas!” a voice called from the far end of the street. They turned, their eyes squinting against the dying sunlight. “Killjoy is mine!”

¿Qué?” Papa Loco said as he turned. Before he could make a complete turn, a gunshot shattered the silence of the ghost town. From his hiding place, Santiago saw blood explode from Papa Loco’s shoulder.

“Papa!” Francisco called as he ran towards the fallen man. He fell to his knees and slid along the dirt the final few feet and came to a full stop beside his elder. “Papa?” he asked softly as he cradled the old man’s head in his lap.

Santiago gritted his teeth. He wanted to move to help his padre, but knew that moving out into the street wouldn’t help the old man at all. He was so focused on what was happening in the street that he didn’t notice that Perdita had moved out of the shadows. She didn’t run, didn’t dash; she wasn’t in a hurry at all. By the time Santiago saw her, it was too late to grab her and pull her back to safety.

Instead of moving towards her fallen father, she lowered the brim of her hat and turned to face their attacker. Another shot rang out and Perdita moved ever so slightly. It was obvious to Santiago that the bullet had passed just above her shoulder and through her long hair. Even to his sharp eyes her hand was a blur as she drew her gun and fired two shots.

Niño jumped down from the roof and ran into the street. He grabbed the collar of Francisco’s coat, trying to drag him to safety. Francisco’s embrace tightened around his father’s head.

Papa Loco’s eyes sprang open. “Let go of me, niño estúpido,” he said to Francisco. Papa Loco grunted as he rolled away from Francisco and half-walked, half-loped to the safety of a small alley. Shocked, Francisco let himself be dragged by Niño to safety.

Perdita continued to fire her gun and then jumped back beside Santiago.

“Who is it?” he asked her as she reloaded. The voice had sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

She spun the chamber and then snapped it back into place. “The dead,” she grunted. She stepped out into the street and started running towards their attackers.

Santiago frowned in confusion. He rolled his eyes as realization sank in: Seamus and his rotten Belles. He snarled and ran after his sister.

* * *

Seamus was sure that he had killed the crazy bastard, but the old man had gotten up and walked away. He cursed as another bullet whizzed past his head. He had to hand it to the Ortegas: they could shoot. The only reason he was still standing was because the setting sun was in their eyes, making it difficult to get an accurate shot. However, he knew that the sun would drop below the hill above the town soon and then he would be a standing target.

He focused his mind on the Belles standing behind him. They moved into the town, going in separate directions. Another shot rang out and his top hat flew off his head. He cursed as snatched it from the ground and moved behind a building. My hat. They shot my beautiful hat. They’ll pay for that.

He glanced around the corner, taking in the street. The woman (Perdita, he thought) was a block away, walking down the wooden sidewalk with her gun held in front of her. The brim of her hat was so low that he could only see her lips and chin, but she obviously could see him. She fired another shot, splintering the wood near his head. He ducked back, sank to his knees, leaned around the corner again and fired.

She moved to one side and pressed her body against the window of the building. The glass around her shattered as one of the Belles broke through it and grabbed her.

* * *

Perdita tried to move as she heard the glass breaking, but the arms, though dead, were still quick and strong. The Belle pulled her through the broken window, cutting Perdita’s arms and back. As she landed, Perdita rolled and came up with her gun in front of her.

One of the Belles, dressed in a purple dress that had probably very fine and fancy at one time, but was now nothing more than tattered rags, glared at her with eyes that were dead but could still see. The Belle hissed at her, moving from side to side, looking more like an animal that a human being. The purple parasol in her left hand twitched as though she were preparing to attack with it.

Perdita fired a shot into the thing’s head, snapping it back. The Belle’s eyes came back to Perdita’s face, the foul thing still hissing and moving slightly.

“Down!” a voice called out.

Perdita dropped to the dust-covered floor as a loud shot deafened her. The Belle’s head disappeared in a shower of blood, bone and brains. The body swayed for a moment, then collapsed in a heap on the floor. Niño jumped into the building.

“You brought Boomers,” Perdita said as Niño helped her up.

“Indeed,” he answered. He kicked the Belle in the side then spat on it.

“How is Papa?” she asked.

“Alive,” he answered as he moved to the broken window. He brought his gun up and leapt out onto the sidewalk. Perdita followed him and the two of them ran up the sidewalk to the corner where Seamus had been just moments before. Other than some disturbed dirt, there wasn’t any sign of the madman.

Perdita glanced around. “Where did Santiago go?”

TO BE CONTINUED...

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Thanks for the comments, all.

As far as I know, this isn't anywhere even close to official fluff. We've had some great stories so far from the Wyrd universe, but they've only focused on one or two characters. I decided I wanted to tackle a story that involved more characters, specifically concerning the "factions". I don't know if I've even come close to how the game will be, but it's just the way I pictured a bit of a skirmish between these two groups.

EDIT: I'll actually be posting the story on a blog here at Wyrd. I hadn't planned on using one of the new blogs, but I figure it's a good place for a story as long as this one turned out to be. It's finished, now I just need to go through and do a bit of editing. It should be up in the next day or two.

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