Sheriff Poole & The Mech Gang (2 page)

We talk a while longer. Mason goes to bed
first and we follow soon after. I show Tommy to the guest room,
then take a stroll around the ranch buildings with Buddy. I study
the sky above the old Showdown Ranch canyon but it’s clear, so I
turn in.

It’s long past midnight when Mason nudges me,
but I’m already awake. Outside I hear Buddy whining. I look to the
skies above the canyon. Cursing, I get dressed. Before I leave the
room I grab my six-gun and its holster from where they hang in the
closet.

“Dan,” Mason says.

She’s sitting up, bedclothes pulled up to her
chin.

“I’ll be careful,” I tell her as I leave our
bedroom.

I know she’ll be out to help like she always
does. She’s a good woman. Wish I didn’t have to keep putting her
through this.

I draw the six-gun from its holster and cock
the hammer as I walk down the hall. Tommy sits up when I kick in
the door and point the pistol at him. He’s obviously disoriented,
but I’m too pissed off for it to register much.

“Goddamn!” I yell at him. “We fed you. We put
you up. And this is what we get in return?”

Tommy holds up his hands.

“Easy there, cowboy,” he says. “I don’t know
what’s got you all worked up, but if I did something to offend you,
I swear it’s nothing I ever intended.”

I point to the window with the hand that’s
not holding the pistol. That remains steady, aimed at his head.

“We’ve had three months of peace,” I tell
him. “That’s the longest we’ve ever had. Then you show up and
they’re back. You’re telling me there’s no connection?”

“They…?”

He’s torn between wanting to look out the
window and keeping his gaze on the six-gun pointed at his head,
hammer cocked. In the end curiosity wins out over fear and he
glances out the window.

“What the fuck?” he says when he sees the
light show above the canyon.

That’s when I know for sure and lower the
pistol. The fact that he woke up completely disoriented finally
registers.

“They’re back,” I say.

“
Who’s
back?”

“The things that killed my dad.”

He turns away from the light show. It looks
like helicopters training spotlights on the ground, except they’re
not helicopters. And the creatures in those flying aircraft aren’t
human.

“But your dad’s dead,” Tommy says. “Why would
they come back?”

“I figure they’re looking for the
sheriff.”

“But—”

“If we make it through the night, I’ll tell
you what I know. Right now we need to get ready because they’ll be
here in about ten minutes.”

I leave the room without waiting for an
answer. Buddy and I are halfway to the barn when Tommy catches up
to us, breathing heavily.

“What…the hell’s…going on?” he manages.

I’m at the barn’s side door and I fling it
open, hitting the lights as I head for my workbench.

“Can’t talk,” I tell him. “You can help or
stay out of my way.”

“What do you want me to do?”

I grab a box of shells off the workbench and
toss it to him.

“Go into the stalls and load up the Mech
Gang’s guns,” I tell him.

“But—”

“Either do it, or go back to the house and
stay out of my way.”

I know he’s got a thousand questions, but I
guess he sees something in my face that tells him how serious this
is.

“Load their guns,” he says. “Right.”

“They’re under the tarps. I’ll help as soon
as I get the sheriff ready.”

“The sheriff…”

He’s headed toward the stalls, but stops dead
in his tracks as I pull back the tarp covering Poole where he’s
lying on the workbench.

“Oh man,” he says. “You have the freaking
sheriff!”

“Move!” I tell him.

His gaze is locked on the sheriff for one
long moment, then he nods and hurries over to the old horse stalls.
I turn back to the sheriff.

“Sorry,” I say to him as I reach into his
chest and turn him on.

Unlike Johnny Scales, the sheriff immediately
sits up, the movement smooth as my own. Smoother. He closes his own
chest door, his gaze ranging throughout the barn until they finally
settle on me.

“They’re back?” he asks.

His voice has a slight mechanical tone, but
otherwise it’s indistinguishable from a human’s.

I nod in response to his question.

“How many?” he asks.

“I don’t know. But there are a lot of lights.
Three? Maybe four?”

He nods. “We’ve got our work cut out for
us.”

“How’s it going with the Mech Gang?” I call
out to Tommy.

I turn when there’s no response to see him
standing by the open door of the first stall, slack-jawed, his eyes
big.

“Get the boys ready,” the sheriff says. “I’ll
go stand guard.”

I walk over to Tommy and pluck the box of
shells from his hand while he stands there dumbfounded watching the
sheriff walk outside.

I’ve got the tarps off the gang and I’m
loading guns when Tommy finally gets himself together enough to
help me. I’ve finished with Johnny Scales and the Linden Kid and
I’ve moved on to the Myers Brothers, Chris and Pike. Chris is
missing his legs, Pike one of his arms. But not his shooting
arm.

I grab a handful of shells and hand the box
to Tommy.

“Get their guns loaded,” I tell him.

He nods and gets to work without any more
questions, though I can see them written all over his face. I cross
the stall to the last of the gang, Paco Mendez. All that’s left of
him is a torso jammed into a small wagon and held in place with
ropes. I load up his guns then pull the wagon out into the main
part of the barn, heading for the door. By the time I get back to
the stalls, Tommy’s finished loading the Myers Brothers’s guns.

“I’ve never seen rounds like these,” he says
rolling one of the bullets between is fingers.

“I’m not surprised,” I tell him.

I get him to help me roll the rest of the
gang outside—each of them tied into place on heavy-duty dollies,
which makes them easier to move than Mendez is in his wagon. You
just have to be careful you don’t tip them.

“The sheriff makes the bullets,” I add. “He
says they’re equal parts lightning, whiskey powder and
despair.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know. You could ask him. The time I
did, he started talking about alchemy and confined energy spheres
and my head started to spin.”

The sheriff is standing in the middle of the
yard, his scarred features turned to face the canyon where the
lights are still playing over the ground below. It won’t be long
now before they reach us.

Mason steps down from the porch carrying her
granddad’s old buffalo rifle. She delivers it to the sheriff, then
pulls a six-gun from the waist of her jeans.

Tommy turns from the sheriff and looks back
at me. “I think I’ll pass,” he says.

Mason and I switch on each member of the Mech
Gang and arrange them in the yard, three of them facing the canyon,
two facing the rear. We came up with this arrangement after the
last time, when the enemy split up and came at us from both
sides.

“Eyes to the sky,” I say to them. “Make every
shot count.”

The Mech Gang draw their weapons. Five metal
faces tilt upward and glowing red eye sensors scan the sky.

The sheriff checks the buffalo rifle’s load
even though he knows Mason would have done that before she brought
it out to him. But that’s just the way he is. Careful. It’s why
he’s survived as long as he has.

“Incoming,” Mason says.

We look up at the lights that are now heading
our way. The sheriff settles the stock of the rifle against his
shoulder and takes aim.

“Can you shoot?” I ask Tommy.

He nods. “But what am I shooting at? Lights
in the sky?”

“Pretty much. We just need to keep them
back—lay down a covering fire so the sheriff can do his thing. You
won’t believe the range on that buffalo rifle.”

“There’s not much about today I do believe,”
Tommy says.

But he takes the six-gun I pass him, checks
its load.

“Where do you want me?” he asks.

“Stick close to Mason. And go easy on your
ammo. These bullets take a while to make.”

“But—”

“All you need to remember is that we want to
keep those damned creatures far enough back that their lasers can’t
reach us, but close enough for the sheriff to make his shot.”

I don’t expect him to do much, but a man
needs to be made to feel useful. We don’t really need him. By now
we’ve got this down to a fine art. I fetch my rifle and take a
stand beside the Linden Kid.

The Mech Gang starts to lay down fire,
choosing their shots carefully.

“Come on,” the sheriff mutters, gaze fixed on
the approaching aircraft.

The lead one’s almost close enough to fire on
one of the outbuildings when the sheriff takes his shot. The
buffalo rifle booms like a clap of thunder and the craft explodes
in a flare of bright light. Then it winks out and there’s nothing
left in its place except for a cloud of fine dust. The other two
craft veer off, right and left, before they circle back for another
run. Now they’re coming at us from both sides.

The sheriff doesn’t even check his shot. He
breaks the rifle open and expels the spent shell. Reaching into his
pocket, he gets another round, inserts it and snaps the rifle shut
again. He’s so fast that it almost seems he has the stock back
against his shoulder before the echo of his first shot dies
away.

“East,” he says, indicating the target he’s
chosen.

I turn west and fire at the incoming craft on
my side. It’s too far away for me to do any damage, but it shoots
straight up into the sky to escape all the same. Behind me I hear
the boom of the buffalo rifle again, followed by another explosion
as the second craft bites the dust.

You’d think they’d learn by now. You’d think
the surviving ship would beat a retreat. But here it comes,
dropping straight down from the starry sky directly above us. The
buffalo rifle booms a third time and the last craft explodes. A
fine dust drifts down from the sky.

“Don’t breathe that crap!” I warn Tommy. “Or
let it get in your eyes.”

Mason and I are already pulling up bandanas
to cover our noses and mouths. We shut our eyes. Both the Mech Gang
and the sheriff are holding their fire. I feel the weird tingle as
the dust settles upon us and brush it away. It’s only dangerous in
the first few moments after the ship explodes. After that it might
as well be corn flour.

I open my eyes and look around. The Mech Gang
are still scanning the sky for danger, but the sheriff has lowered
his buffalo rifle.

“We got all three!” Tommy says.

The sheriff nods.

“I counted four over the canyon,” Mason
says.

I play back in my head the light show we saw
above the canyon earlier and realize she’s right. We all study the
sky, waiting for that last ship to appear.

The minutes tick by.

“So what exactly are we blowing up here?”
Tommy asks.

“I’m not really sure,” the sheriff tells him.
“Back where I’m from, all we know for sure is that they’re some
kind of gas-based life form. They can’t hold a solid shape for
long. Long enough to cause some damage—“ He gives me a glance.
“—but then they just come apart. I don’t even think we’re killing
them. We’re just returning them to another state. Sooner or later
they reform and they come back.

“Used to be, I thought they were looking to
use me for a more permanent vehicle, but now I think they’re just
pissed off and want to finish me off.”

The rest of us keep scanning for that fourth
ship, but Tommy can’t take his gaze from the sheriff.

“So you’re real,” he says. “I mean, you’re
like a real person except you’re made of metal and clockwork,
right?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Well, no offense, but I just took you for
something somebody made.”

“Somebody did make me.”

Tommy nods. “Well, yeah. But you still think
and feel like a human being. You have independent thought.”

“I can think for myself, yes,” the sheriff
says.

“So why do you let Dan turn you off?

“I don’t
let
him. I ask him to.”

“I don’t get it,” Tommy says. “So you just go
from battle to battle? What kind of life is that?”

The sheriff shrugs. “It’s what I do. It’s why
I am. I’ve had too much of the time in between where I don’t fit
in. A warrior’s not made for peacetime—just ask the old Indian
chiefs. Geronimo, Cochise. They understood. But so long as the
enemy keeps coming for me, I can’t go away. At least here we’ve got
a good defense set up.”

“Earlier,” Tommy says, “you said something
about ‘where you come from.’ Can I ask where that is?”

The sheriff scratches at his burnt cheek—a
gesture I’ve noticed he does when he’s thinking. It always makes me
feel a little disconcerted since it makes him seem more human, less
the clockwork man.

“I don’t know that I can tell you,” he says
finally. “It’s not from here and it wasn’t in this clockwork body.
When Nate Cutler—Dan’s great-grandfather—was putting the finishing
touches on this body and turned it on, I found myself inside and
I’ve been here ever since. But I can recall some other place and
something pushing me out of my own body.”

“Was it something Nate did?”

The sheriff shakes his head. “No, I think it
was one of the enemy taking me over and so I fled and ended up in
the next available container that would hold whatever it is that
makes us what we are. Nate made this body to protect his family, so
that’s what I do.”

Tommy looks from me back to the sheriff.

“Seems to me,” Tommy says, “that your being
here is what’s putting the Cutlers in danger.”

“Now you hold on there!” I tell him. “The
sheriff’s done a lot for my family. He’s fought off Indians, Civil
War deserters, rustlers and outlaws. If you think I’m turning my
back on him now, you’ve got another thing coming. Jack Poole’s
family, and that means something around here.”