My Dark Tower Rip off. - Writers Forum

Zerath · 12-11-2006, 09:49 PM

Here it is. I still kinda like though. Fire Away

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Chapter one

The dry wind blew across the outer ridge desert, a lone man and horse rode across it. The man’s name was John Henry and he was a bounty hunter. His lips were dry and cracked; his face had a large scar running down the left side, he was middle aged but was still in very good shape, the man had long blonde hair that went down to his shoulder blades, he wore a leather jacket and black jeans the man had dull green eyes that were now staring out at the small city just becoming visible through the blowing sand. John Dug his heels into the horse’s side commanding it to go faster, the desert begun to speed past its large spiraling rock formations going unnoticed by the rider, his eyes were now all most completely closed to keep the sand out. Another twenty minutes riding and he was on the outskirts if the town.

It was one of the oldest settlements in this area. All of the buildings were constructed from the weak wood that came from the deserts only species of tree, as a result of the weak wood most of the buildings had been repaired many times over, most appeared to be at least 30 years old and leaned to one side or another giving the place the look of a ghost town. John dismounted his horse and pulled out his small 22 revolver and headed towards his queries favorite bar. Most of the people in the small city were sleeping this late, their gas lamps out for the night and that would work to would work to his favor, less people get scared, and less people call the cops. John took the horses bridle and led him by it until he reached the old bar were he hitched him on a post.

The bar front was completely flat except for the small dent where the door was. The building was very old and had been repaired many times over its 53 years of service; in fading yellow letters across the front of the bar it read “The Oasis.” John pushed open the door and looked inside, the bar was reaching closing time. There was an old piano in one corner; an older man was playing some folk song that John didn’t know with a group of drunks trying to sing along. Directly in front of him there was a bar that went from wall almost to the next, to the right there was the drunks and their piano and to the left wall there was a set of stairs that led up to the second level. There was an old and sagging hooker sitting on one table talking to an old man with who was just about drooling over her. A sad group of drunks sat on various bar stools drinking them selves into the ground, John spotted the one he was looking for, an old man who looked to be on his last legs wearing a long trench coat that was almost reached to the floor and an old dusty cowboy hat. John took the seat next to the old man and ordered Rum & Coke from the sad looking bar tender that had half his face melted away by some kind of acid. John thought it was pretty funny that no one in the bar even cared that he had a gun in one hand. After downing the drink John turned to the old man and said in a friendly voice “You wouldn’t’ happen to be Robert Hornberg would you?” The man replied in a slow said voice the seemed to break out of his throat “Yes, yes I would. And who is asking?” John smiled and said in a nonchalant voice “it doesn’t matter.” Then put the revolver to the man’s head and said in the same voice “Sorry its just business.” The man nodded slowly knowing that this would happen some day and John pulled the trigger. Even though it was only a 22 at point blank range it made a huge mess, the hooker screamed and the drunks stopped singing. The bar tender gave a little yelp and backed up with his hands in the air “Please to don’t kill me.” John laughed and replied and calm voice “Don’t worry you don’t have a bounty on your head.” Then he picked up the body of Robert Hornberg and headed for the door, John heard a loud click, like that of gun. He turned around; one of the other drunks had pulled out a large revolver and was pointing at him. The man was one of the younger drunks and was only starting to look like one of them, he had stubbly beard and was wearing plain blue jeans and a white T-shirt, he had a short black hair that smooth against his skull. The man spoke in a slurred tone of voice to John “You killed my father you fucking son of a bitch, I’m gonna blow your fucking head of!” John Started to back toward the door with body slung over his shoulders, after all he didn’t want to kill off half a family in one night if didn’t have to. “Ok buddy you know your dad had a price on his head from his younger years, what I did was allowed by the law.” The young drunk took this all in slowly, then he pulled back on the trigger, there was a large bang and blinding light, John took his hands away from his face to see the young man lying dead on the floor of the bar. His gun had misfired turning his face into raw hamburger; everyone in the bar had basically the same reaction as last time. John left the bar and headed for his tied up horse.

He slung the dead body over the horse and climbed up him self. The night air was cool and the wind storm of earlier that night had died off and the stars were showing through. He could see Terra shining through bright in the east. To the south shone the twin moons both were bright and full. John pulled the map that he carried with him at all times out of his leather pack he wore slung around his shoulders. The town’s police station was about three blocks west and so he headed there to turn the body and get his reward and maybe find an Inn to spend the night in.

John came to the Police station and entered it with the body slung over his shoulders; it was another old building that was falling apart. The fat sheriff sitting at the desk started with surprise when he entered, he had been dozing. John dumped the body onto his desk and stared down the groggy law man. The sheriff looked down at the man’s and seemed to think for a few seconds before finally getting who’s body it was lying on the desk in front him. Then he handed John the money he was due, John counted it and walked out of the police station and back into the night air. He recalled spotting an Inn on the way here so he climbed on his horses back and headed in the direction he had come from.

End of chapter one

Chapter two

The sun shone through the window waking John much earlier then he liked. He swore and pulled the dirty bad smelling bed sheets over his head and tried to get back to sleep. But the sun was shining right into his room now and getting back to sleep would be nearly impossible. So he rolled out of bed and put on his coat, John all ways slept fully clothed in Inns, you never know what was crawling around in those sheets.

John walked down the old stairs of the aging Inn and headed for the desk; he paid the man at the desk for the night and headed out the door. The town was just waking up, people moved about groggily with sleep still in their eyes. The sun was beating cruelly down on the desert sands, heating them. There was not a cloud in the sky. Riding back across the desert to Armstrong would be impossible until the sun fell. That meant he had a lot of time to kill. But first things first, he had to get his horse watered and fed. John went around to the side of the Inn where his horse was tied up under a shed. She was awake when he found her and he fed and got her a bucket of water from the local well. After he was done with that John headed for the closest bar which he had marked on his map the night before.

It was about two blocks south in a slightly nicer part of town, it was called “The Golden Pony.” The building had been built more recently then any the other buildings in the area, it had a large sign with a golden horse hanging from the roof and a porch with old men playing checkers and bitching about things in their day. John walked up on the porch and nodded to each of the men, they nodded back and John entered the bar. It was certainly a nicer place then “The Oasis” had been no hookers or drunks with a piano. There was a well to do bar tender was wearing a nice clean smock with no strange stains running down the front. Instead of fowl drunks there were ranchers in nice cloths talking to each other about cattle prices and other boring things. John walked towards the long line of bar stools and sat down. He ordered a drink from the bar tender who gave a strange look but gave him what he wanted quickly. The drink went down and he ordered him self another one. The thought passed through John’s mind that maybe he should eat something before getting drunk, and then the thought passed through Johns mind that maybe getting drunk in a strange town when he had a long trip ahead of him that night. With thought in mind he ordered some pancakes and bacon (which was a bit pricey because it had to be frozen). After eating the food John laid back and tried to think what to do next. He could wander around the city, but that would get old fast. Then he spotted them, a group of rancher’s playing cards. He sauntered over to the table pulled over a chair and sat down. All the men at the table gave once over, then they turned to the man at the head of the table. He was old and wrinkled, was of his eyes was glazed over a creepy shade of milky white. He spoke to him a voice that was just barely masking rage “Hey sonny that seats not for you. So shoo!” John replied in slow calm voice “I wanna play.” The men on the left and right of the man stood up drawing guns, the one on the left had a shotgun and the man on the right had duel revolvers. John repeated his question. The man on the left racked his shotgun and the man on the right pulled the hammers on his guns in answer. John backed up slowly with his hands raised and said in a quick scared voice “There’s no reason to get trigger happy gentle men.” The men kept their guns raised until John reached the door. Then one of the other ranchers got up and walked over to the man at the head of the table. He stood up and said in a happy yet some how grim as well voice “It is my understanding that killed one of my oldest and most trusted friends last night, for that you will die.” Everyone in the bar was watching them now. John ran out of the bar with the two gunmen firing after him. Both missed him. John drew his small gun and headed at top sprint for the Inn where his horse was hitched. He ducked and waived with the towns people with bullets zinging past his shoulders and head. Then there was a searing pain in his left arm. One of the bullets from the revolvers had hit him. John saw the Inn not 50 feet ahead of him; his horse was still there waiting for him. He turned around and aimed the barrel of his gun at the man with shotguns head and pulled the trigger boring a bullet into his skull. He hit the ground and the other man screamed and ran to his side. John’s hands moved quickly even with his bleeding arm. He undid the horse reins and saddled her. He was on the horse and gone before the other man was standing up. John checked his water bottle and swore loudly in the wind. He was out of water. He would have to find an oasis if wanted to get to Armstrong. The man with the revolver was up and shooting with tears running down his cheeks, he was too choked up to shoot strait.

Soon John was out in the open desert. He was breathing heavily and his arm was still bleeding. His vision was getting bleary and his head was throbbing. He didn’t know if he could stay awake much longer. Thankfully he had some bandages in his pack that would slow down the bleeding, hopefully that would stop him from blacking out and then dying. But if he wanted to live he would have to find some place to rest. John scanned the horizon for anything that looked like a town or even a shack. Then he saw it, a glint way far off in the desert, there was something out there in the shifting sands. And maybe that something had a person living in it and maybe that person had water. He rode for the better part of an hour before coming to what had been glinting out there in the desert.

End of chapter two.

Chapter three

It was long and silver and about 15 feet high, it was about 50 feet long. Towards the front there was what appeared to be a large domed window. There were to small stubby wings in the middle with a crest of an eagle on them. The rear had what looked like two large barrels welled to it. There was a door that was just barely open. John walked towards the door like he was in a trance, he had never seen anything like it his life. Or had he? He his memory was fuzzy but he could see it in his minds eye, an old book that his grandmother had in here attic, He didn’t recall anything about it other then that. The door was jammed, he tried pulling it down, but the desert sands had frozen it in place like ice. He grabbed it again and pulled with all the strength he could muster, nothing the door wouldn’t move. But if nothing else the ship was casting a shadow which he could sleep under until the night.

He slept until just before the sun had fallen out of the sky. Before he left he marked the place on his map. He knew he should ride fast; someone else might see the glint in the desert and investigate. With this thought in his mind John saddled his horse and headed towards the setting sun, towards the great city of Armstrong. It would be a good three days ride before he got there, and he was still out of water. But he was pretty sure there was a spring about two hours away from here. Three hours later he was at the spring filling up his water bottle. His mind was still racing about what he had found. John thought that it might be some kind of dwelling that had been used by people thousands of years ago. But in his heart he knew that was bull shit. It was something from another world; it had crashed thousands of years ago in the red sands of this world. The creature’s body that built and flew the ship might still be in there. What had they been? He hadn’t the slightest idea; the only other planet he knew of was terra. Which if you were to believe the leading wise men with there strange long “telescopes” was as dead as the sands.

He rode for three days, he stopped once of twice a day to refill his water bottle and to sleep under what ever kind of shade he could find. But mostly John Henry rode; he needed to talk to someone who might know something about the ship in the desert. Questions swirled in his head; all he could recall after the trip was done was thoughts of what the silvery thing in the desert might be and were it had come from. He didn’t even notice that the desert was slowly changing into grass lands. Gone were the spiraling rocks and red sand (on the surface any way). All you could see now was the green grass spreading out in every direction. He feared if didn’t tell someone, any one, about what he had found it would drive him mad. Then after three days travel the city appeared on the horizon, it was the places where he had been born and raised. It was home to him.

John’s eyes hurt in the just risen sun. The grand city wall spread out to his left and right. It was tall; he never had bothered to find out how tall. But he guessed them to be at least thirty feet. The wall was dark brown with small slits in it every five feet over to let rain water flow off the wall. Set into the wall were ancient massive guns that had been used by the old peoples to defend the city. But now like most of the machines of those long dead strangers, they had been choked by sand. When he was a youth someone had tried to fire one of the guns with shells they had built them selves, but the gun had misfired like that of the man in the bar and killed the person. John rode through the gate like he had so many times before and into the ancient city of Armstrong. The buildings were metal, no wood here. Most of them were about three stories tall with windows on each floor. There were machines in most of them, but like the guns in the walls they were frozen with sand. Even in the grass lands sand was still a problem. Off in the distance rose the two huge tower for which the city was famous. They were at least one hundred stories each. Each was black and windowless. The towers were uninhabited on all but the lower floors. They were unsafe on most of those upper floors. There were also huge flocks of birds that rested in the top floors.

Johns first priority was to get his bandaged looked at by a doctor. After that he could find someone who would know something about the thing in the desert. He knew of many doctors in the city, but there was one that had patched him up over his fifteen years as a bounty hunter. He was old, very old, and he had always been old as long as John could remember. He rode through the city streets that were just starting to come to life, he rode towards the doctor’s house without even thinking about it. He rode up to the door of the house and got off his horse and tied it to the hitching post.

The office smelled strange, the way it always had, like, blood, sweat and pain killers. John called out the man’s name “Roger! I need you to patch me up.” There was a low sigh and then a old man came out from the back room, his beard reached almost to the floor, his mouth was all gums. “Haven’t you died yet?” John laughed and replied “Thankfully I’m still as lucky as ever, but I’m surprised you’re still able to walk.” Roger muttered something under his breath and asked John what he had done to him self this time, John told him and he went back into the medicine room to get pain killers and disinfects. Soon he returned and stuck John in the arm with a small needle, and then he got the medical tongs and removed the bandage. Roger stuck the tongs into the wound and searched around for the bullet fragment. John stared out the window at the people walking past; he just couldn’t look at the old man digging in his arm. Roger yelled in an excited tone and pulled out a small black objected from his arm. The old doctor chucked the bullet out the window on the street. John grimaced and quickly paid the doctor and left.

The visit had made him wonder how much longer he could be in this business. After all he was pushing 36; his body was getting slower and slower. Most bounty hunters who didn’t quit by 40 were killed. What would he do after he retired? He didn’t know, but it didn’t worry him much. After all this was done he might pull in a bundle. Who knew how much that thing out in the desert was worth?

End Chapter 3

Chapter 4