44 pages completed for this novel and here's the opening:

Raw Ride

A Good Old Fashion Zombie Apocalyptic Shoot-um Up

‘The only good Indian is a dead Indian, or maybe not.'

 

Vargas sat on the rickety old bunk, his back to the wall, staring down at the blood soaking the front of his shirt, thankful it wasn’t his, not that it bettered his current circumstances. He’d never thought he would draw comfort from being behind bars, but he now assessed his jail cell differently.  Many would probably blame him for this, if they knew the whole story. No denying it, he had most likely contributed to the current set of affairs. Greed had never been one of his best attributes. This time though, it had cost him everything.  He wasn’t even sure if what had been done could be undone. One thing for sure, there would be no three square meals in his future, nor any opportunity for parole or pardon. His future lay squarely in his hands, and seemed bleak at the best.

The calendar hanging on the wall opposite his barred cell indicated winter was knocking at the door. Winters could be harsh in these parts, but harsh seemed a relevant term now.  Vargas had survived many brutal winters but none seemed as deadly as the one ahead. He glanced over at the only other cell in the tiny jail, where the young man still hunkered down behind his upturned mattress and bed. The boy, maybe in his late teens, had not spoken a word. Vargas hadn’t attempted to strike up a conversation with him, not really willing to share what he knew just yet, not that the kid knew that he could enlighten him about their little dilemma. Funny, the kid was there because he had broken some law and Vargas was here by choice. He twirled the key ring on his finger, a reminder that he could leave at anytime, of his own free will.  He was comfy, not so cozy for the time being, and wasn’t that eager to venture back outside.

Vargas thought he heard something; cocked his head for a better listen, but was overpowered by his own nasally heavy breathing and pounding heart beat.  This damn waiting was taken its toll. At least in here it was a safe haven.  Out there…out there, it was anyone’s bet. One thing for sure, he couldn’t stay behind bars forever, as much as it did seem to be a smart move. Name your poison, a death sentence is a death sentence, or maybe not, given his new understanding of dead and not dead. He inspected his fingers, his hands and then his arms, reassuring himself that the bloody spots were not wounds, just blood, and not his. How the mighty Vargas had taken a plunge, fallen from his self imposed pedestal, infamous and in high demand once upon a time, but now his fairy tale had reached a not so happy ending, nightmarish beyond even his wildest dreams.

 The deathly silence was abruptly interrupted, the voice causing Vargas to flinch, a man fearful of his own shadow now days. Taking a deep breath, he turned his head to see the kid standing there, clinching the bars in a death grip. He was pale and wild eyed. Vargas didn’t fault him for that. He had a right to be.  The kid’s breathing was heavy and irregular, almost as if he had forgotten how to breathe. He had the look of a fish out of water, only lacking the flopping motion on the bank after being hooked and landed. Vargas twisted his head one way, and then the other, his neck snapping and cracking like breaking tree limbs, bones old and worn, too much tension adding to the discomfort.

“Mister, you were out there, what’s going on in those streets?”

Vargas rubbed his hands through his gray streaked oily hair, and then rubbed his eyes and face, before standing. Both knees popped loudly, arthritis questioning his maneuver. He hobbled towards the kid, his legs still protesting his first steps.  Rubbing his gnarly almost all gray beard, and then his neck, he stopped one step shy of the bars that separated him from the frightened young lad.  Eyes locked, he thought carefully before he spoke, measuring his words, as had become the art of being a showman, a snake oil peddler and seasoned con man. He wasn’t sure the kid could handle the truth, the whole truth, so help him God. Unbelievers couldn’t always be convinced, but these were unbelievable times, even by his standards. Smoke and mirrors, deceitfulness, illusions and lies, had been his forte, at least until it was no longer required, not after his most magnificent discovery, the game changer, and his ticket to the Holy Grail. Wealth and riches, watch for what you wish, he reminded himself.

“Hey kid, what you in for?”

“They said I stole a horse. I didn’t. I found it.”

“Hang’um high just the same, no tolerance in these parts for horse thieves, guilty unless you can prove otherwise, so goes it.”

“Why did you lock yourself in? You have the keys, are you a deputy or something?”

“Or something about covers it.”

“Mister, I heard a whole lot of shooting, yelling and screaming earlier. It sounded like a war had started.”

“Yep, indeed it did. Wars can be won by one side or the other and it’s wise to pick the winning side, but in this case, that isn’t necessarily the best choice.  The good guys are at a disadvantage and the bad guys, the ones like me and you, are not a sure thing either. The table is running against us, odds not in our favor, and even cheating doesn’t ensure a winning hand.”

“Then who are they fighting?”

“Who are they fighting? The key to the war being waged is not necessarily one you could peg on a who.  This fight is not like any a young pup like you has ever seen. Hell, this is new for an old dog’s eyes.   I’m not sure you would even call this an even fight. It’s like they say, never bring a knife to a gun fight, only worse. No rules, no holds barred, knockdown, drag out, last man standing, and the one that gets knocked down don’t amount to much; they just keep coming, unless you know the secret how to stop them.”

“Mister, I have no idea what you’re saying. You’re not making much sense. You’re not touched in the head, are you? “

“I’m crazy all right. I’ve seen things that would put most men in one of those straitjackets, locked away, never to see the light of day again; and being crazy might be better than being a sane man living in an insane world.”

“I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.”

“You instigated this little conversation, kid, not me. It makes no mind to me if we chat or not. Anything I have to say doesn’t change a single solitary thing. You want out; here’s the key. You’re free to leave. I don’t have a dog in the hunt and it doesn’t much matter to me what the hell you do. ”

“Why don’t you leave then?”

“You some sort of moron, boy; you said it yourself, I came here and locked the door. I had good call to be locking my ass in a jail cell. Bars are not for just keeping people inside; it keeps the outside from getting in.  Here, you want the keys or not? All I ask is just hand it back over to me once you unlock your door.”

“Please, just tell what’s going on out there, Mister.”

“Call me Vargas. Everything has a starting point, a beginning before the ending. This is no different, except the ending might be the real end in this case. Do you have religion, boy? Don’t answer that. It’s not much good for what I’m about to tell you. God is not going to save you from hell on earth. There are powers that maybe even he can’t control or destroy. I’m not a God fearing man, never have been and believe me when I say it; you can’t pray your way out of this mess.”

“I’m Henry McCarty.  I don’t think the deputy who locked me up in here knows who I really am and I’m sure as hell not going to be confessing my identity.”

“Ah yes, I’ve heard of you, kid. Not to worry, it’ll be mine and your little secret. Horse thieving isn’t the worse of your offenses or worries, but like I said, hanging is hanging, and if you’re lucky enough, just maybe you’ll meet that hangman some day.  So, tell me, Henry, do you want to hear this from the beginning? We got plenty of time, so long as we keep these cell doors locked.”

“I reckon I might be persuaded to stay a spell, at least until I know what’s going on out there is done. Like you said, we can leave anytime we want.  We got us the keys.”

“Hold on to them and hold on to the seat of your breaches. You might even want to sit down. I’m long winded and got plenty to say.”

 

Happy New Year