Bard Constantine
The Gunner Chronicles: Fire and Brimstone: A Havenworld Novel
Other Books in the Havenworld Universe
❖ Havenworld
❖ Silent Empire
❖ The Troubleshooter: Four Shots
❖ The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues
❖ The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame
❖ Vigiclass="underline" Knight in Cyber Armor
❖ Nimrod Squad
❖ Syn City: Reality Bytes
After the Cataclysm nearly wiped out humanity, the remnants of humanity survived in Havens: city-sized constructs built to reboot society and usher in a new age of humankind.
However, the new age was not the type the architects had envisioned. The same greed and lust for power that existed before the Cataclysm resurfaced, and the Havens quickly became quagmires of political and economic conflict, threatening to destroy the future envisioned by their founders.
This is a world where fortunes can be made in the lawless outposts and small towns outside the jurisdiction of the Havens. Where anything is for sale, everything is permitted, and tyrants rule their pockets of civilization with iron fists. Where there is only one universal rule: shoot first and shoot fast. This is the world of Gunner: A man with revolvers engraved with the words FIRE and BRIMSTONE. A man once righteous, now beset upon a wicked path.
These are
"He who is unjust, let him be unjust still;
he who is filthy, let him be filthy still;
he who is righteous, let him be righteous still;
he who is holy, let him be holy still."
Chapter 1: Avenging Angel
Pablo prayed for the strength to die with dignity.
He dangled from a noose tight around his neck, hands tied behind him, feet precariously perched atop a pile of loosely-stacked stones that threatened to give away any moment. His neck burned from the rope, but even worse was the thirst, the desert feeling in his throat that matched the sparse surroundings; all dull browns and faded reds, dry heat, and whirling dust. The sun was a merciless tormenter, a raging ball of fire that blistered the skin and baked the sand until it split apart. In the cloudless sky, a pair of buzzards circled, waiting. Patient.
Four other men witnessed his struggle to stay alive: Clyde sat in the shade while Reggie, Otis, and Jose stood. Laughing drunkenly, they passed a bottle of whiskey back and forth and played their little game of taking a swallow and then tossing rocks at the stone pile, betting on who would be the first to send Pablo to his death.
Otis made this throw, missing by a yard. The other laughed, spitting on themselves, staggering like fools. Pablo teetered on the stones, legs cramped, tingling, threatening to go numb. He knew it was only a matter of minutes before they gave out, and he'd die anyway. But he fought for every second, soaked with sweat, ignoring the men's mocking jeers.
He saw the stranger before they did; a fast-moving speck in the distance, leaving a plume of dust behind him. It turned into a man on a rumble bike, silhouette hazy in the grainy dust and blistering heat, rippling like a fever dream under the eye of the blazing sun, driving across the brownish-orange wilderness of shifting sand, stunted prickly plants, and striated rock formations. Not much else was visible for miles. Just heat, dust, rocks, and death.
Jose finally turned, nudging Otis and pointing. Their hands drifted to their sidearms when they realized the bike was heading their way. Reggie lifted a rifle and peered into the scope for a closer look. Clyde didn't bother to stand. He sat in the shade of the cottonwood tree, lazily fanning himself with his hat.
The stranger rolled the bike to a stop at a twenty-yard distance, kicking the center stand out and dismounting casually, pausing to pull the dust-caked bandanna away from his reddish-brown face. He had the lean, chiseled looks of a predator; keen eyes, a strong nose, and a square jawline. Faded scars like claw marks ran down the left side of his face from eyebrow to beard. Twin long-barreled revolvers hung on either side of his hips. Barely glancing at Pablo, he squinted at the four men, taking a thin cheroot from his jacket pocket and sticking it between his teeth.
"Don't guess I can bother you boys for a light?"
The group relaxed just a tad. Reggie shifted his stance, jerking his head at the stranger. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
"Not supposed to be anyone."
Reggie paused, wetting his lips as his eyes shifted from his partners back to the stranger. "Well, what's your name?"
"Gunner."
"That your first or last name?"
Gunner gave the man a hard stare, chewing on the end of his cigar. "Yeah."
A confused look flashed across Reggie's beak-nosed face, but his intended reply was cut off by Clyde's deep, rich laughter.
"Stand down, Reggie. The man ain't no threat to us. Are you, Mr. Gunner?"
"Just passing through. Saw you boys and figured there must be a town nearby."
"You figured right. 'Bout four or five miles that away." Clyde jerked a thumb in the northeast direction, eyes glinting under the brow of his hat. "That's a nice machine you're riding. Don't see too many Steeds around these parts."
Pablo risked a glance at the bike. Longer and wider than most motorcycles, the chassis was protected by armored fairing fashioned into a fierce warhorse. Massive pipes jutted from the back end, providing jet thrusters for the fusion engine. He didn't know much about bikes, but it looked fast. And expensive.
Gunner shrugged. "It needs some work. Busted suspension and a bad generator, I think."
"Well, you're in luck 'cause it just so happens that it's the only stop for the next couple hundred miles or so. Trading center right off the railroad. You should be able to find the parts you need. Might even find a sober mechanic if it's a good day. I'm Clyde. You met Reggie. The other two are Otis and Jose. We're from the Town. Had to come out here to get rid of this dead weight." He spat in Pablo’s direction.
Gunner removed his cowboy hat, shaking the dust off before placing it back over his tangled mane of dark, wavy hair. "You rode five miles from town just to hang a man?"
"Had to. Our gallows broke down from the last hanging. Fat bastard was nearly four hundred pounds. Ended up shooting him in the head after he snapped the timber instead of his neck. And since there ain't no good trees around town, we had to ride way out here to this cottonwood tree. That's why we're taking our sweet time with this preacher man. Since we had to come all the way out here, I guess we might as well enjoy it." He grinned, exposing tobacco-stained teeth.
Gunner gave him a hard look. "You're hanging a preacher?"
Clyde spat again, leaving a string of drool across his chin. "That's what he calls himself. Came into town, stirring the folks up about repentance and the wages of sin. Claims God is bringing divine judgment against the town. Got the Judge right sore about it, so he had us put a noose around his neck to see if the preacher's God is able to save his sorry hide. So far, He ain't showed up." He and his men burst into raucous laughter.
Gunner didn't even crack a smile. "This Judge always hang folks for preaching?"
Clyde tipped back a flask, swallowing brown liquor. Wiping his mouth, he gave Gunner a cock-eyed stare. "The Judge hangs who he wants to hang. He runs the town. So long as his pay is good, we got no problem stringing up folks he wants strung up."
"That's right," Reggie said. "And we don't care for no strangers poking their noses in our business, neither."
Gunner ignored him, keeping his gaze on Clyde. "If you're hanging a man for preaching the word of God, then you're hanging him for the worst reason. You've stood here, put a noose on the man's neck, placed him on a pile of rocks, and laughed while he fought to live. Looks like you've had your fun. Why don't you go ahead and cut him loose?"