DEATH OF THE OLD WEST

DEATH OF THE OLD WEST

Zeke was a tough nut, a real working man who took no shit and gave as good as he got. He was also a cowboy who lived in the Old West and he was a bit different from the others; he never carried a gun that worked. A hundred and two confirmed kills in ‘Nam had changed his mind. Followed by a dozen scalps in the Gulf. It wasn’t in his operating procedure anymore; he was able to handle himself well enough with his fists and had never lost a scrap yet. There was a reason that Zeke was like this; he was totally fucking crazy. Cataclysmic events led him to the Old West.

After the nuclear was that devastated America and the whole world in 2012, Zeke left his devastated city where he worked. With no city to work at, he was out of a job. Before the nuclear fallout fell, he hurriedly packed his ex army holdall with supplies and left his small one bedroom apartment near LA.

High tailing it up to the hills was his best option; he decided this while camping under a tree situated upon a hill that looked down onto the burning city. Having walked a dozen miles through the night and luckily not meeting anyone, he was whacked out. The last thing he wanted to do was walk in daylight, running the risk of meeting armed desperate people. With a litre bottle of Tequila, Zeke was fine under his tree. Down below his city burned in a radioactive firestorm, where millions had died. He knew why the war erupted, for he was an ex warrior from an even older war. This new war didn’t bother him; he knew it was coming for over twenty years.

For now he was safe, he estimated the winds were blowing east. This would take any fallout away from him and out to sea, from the bombs that hit LA. Could be in trouble from fallout from any hit cities east of me though, he thought, taking a long pull of Tequila. Adjusting his holdall he used as a pillow, he squirmed and got comfy, pulling his green army blanket over him as camouflage. It had been over a decade since he was drafted for a second time, into the US Army to fight in the third Persian Gulf War, he kept every bit of his military kit except his gun. He vowed never to kill again; his past actions in his wars would no doubt send him to hell and back.

When daylight faded into twilight, he upped his butt and headed further into the interior, away from the ruined city and any surviving people. Slowly travelling by night was better and safer. For two weeks he ventured forth, always by night. Unarmed and ready for the unexpected. He used stealth and his intelligence, thankful for this bit of military training on Search and Destroy missions. His instructors had always urged, “Look with your eyes before rushing in.”

This approach saved Zeke’s life when he came across a sleeping biker gang camping out down by the river. Seeing their smouldering camp fire and hearing their snores alerted Zeke to their presence. Do I steal one of their Harley’s and make a run for it on the open road? wondered the wanderer, while he watched the dozen or so men huddled round their fire. Clearly the single guard they had posted was asleep. I’ve not been on a bike for a decade but it’s like riding a bike. I’d be gone before they knew what happened. If I wasn’t a peace lover, I could kill them all with my bare hands.

Thinking it through, Zeke didn’t take the bike. He knew it was the wise choice, being alone and unarmed, he wanted no grief from an angry motorcycle gang. Slowly and quietly, he withdrew into the bushes and bypassed their camp. A mile further on, he crashed out for the night in a small cave in a cliff, hidden from sight and danger. In the morning he trekked some more.

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With aching feet from two weeks and close to a hundred miles of walking through the desert and scrub, Zeke laid up for a three day rest. The area he chose was a hilltop that overlooked the terrain below on all sides. He had a thing for high ground, feeling safe and secure with no chance of surprise. His hill was three hundred feet high, easily towering over the plain below. Nothing moved on the warm desert sands, not even a coyote or wild cat. In the daylight Zeke spotted four rising smoke plumes, tens of miles distant where towns and cities slowly burnt themselves out. One is LA and the others must be other big population centres. I bet its fucking hell there; glad I got out when I did. I’m even luckier, having phoned in sick for work before the nukes fell.

From his holdall he removed a five year old MRE, a Meal Ready to Eat. This was a sealed pack of dry biscuits, a small bottle of water and a pack of apple pie. When opened, this small packet magically heated itself up. What more could a wandering man need?

“Tastes lovely,” muttered Zeke, squinting against the high noon day sun. While he ate, he gazed down over the plain looking for movement. There was none. His hiding place was a good one, a rock jutted out providing good shade and a useful hidey-hole for him. Someone would have to be right in front of him to spot him. “The water is good, must be vacuum sealed,” he went on, to himself. Was he mad?

Finishing the MRE, Zeke carefully rolled up the cartons and hid them well out of sight under a big rock. When I leave, should I take my rubbish with me? Less environmental impact then, he thought, concerned that his rubbish could damage the local environment. Miles away, irreversible damage was done where multiple nuclear detonations killed a hundred and fifty million and poisoned the land forever. Happy with himself, he settled down for the day to sleep off his meal and await nightfall.

Stars arced high overhead, the Milky Way was easily visible to the naked eye. Zeke decided to explore his small hilltop. There was ample visibility by starlight alone. Hell, I feel like an old time cowboy! Maybe I should become one.

On his travels he found an old rusty Winchester rifle and an ancient cowboy hat in a half hidden building just by the summit. It wasn’t till he tripped over a low ruined wall that once belonged to a small room that he noticed the house. He careered forward and landed awkwardly, the wind was knocked out of him like dollars from a Vegas gambling machine. Looking round, he took shot of his position; he could just make out low walls and a slightly higher one with a bit of collapsed roof.

“Well I never! Must be some old timer’s house from way back,” Zeke muttered, rubbing his leg. “Damn near snapped my leg!”

For a minute he sat there, taking in the distant stars and planets. The burning cities still were on fire, he saw distant flames pulsating like a live thing and above the orange glows, smoke still climbed lazily high into the sky hiding some stars. What can be still on fire after two weeks? I hope all of the stars aren’t hidden by the smoke! Coz it’ll hide a wonderful view.

Slowly standing up, he carefully walked over fallen roof tiles, broken wooden beams and loose clay bricks. He entered what could still be called ‘a room,’ for it still was covered by the sagging roof, held up by old rotten beams attached to proud brickwork. He knew this place must be over two hundred years old, at least.

Under the slightly sloping roof, it was totally dark. This was no problem; Zeke took a small wind up torch from his pocket and clicked it on. He was careful not to let the beam be visible from the ruined room, at night light could be seen for miles and that brought unwelcome attention. Zeke didn’t want that.

“Just look at that!” he stammered, bending down to pick up a rusty rifle. “A bloody Winchester repeater. John Wayne had one in his old movies. Fuck, I wonder if it’s his.”

He tried the cocking mechanism but it was jammed solid. The wood was warped and dusty. It was obvious this antique would never fire again but he liked it and decided to keep it. Call me John Wayne, you dirty dog! Zeke laughed to himself. Shining the dim light over the small enclosed space, he saw an equally ancient hat balancing on a rusty nail on a beam. A cowboy hat!

“Goddamn what a rush! A real life cowboy hat, you got to be kidding!” he commented, reaching up to get it. With great care he removed it and examined it. Brown in colour, it was made of leather and was cracked and dusty. Blowing the dust off made a large cloud of it, he coughed and spat. This thing is as old as me! Zeke tried the ancient hat for size, taking off his old greasy baseball cap and pocketing it, it was replaced by a late nineteenth century cowboy hat. It fit! A broken mirror still hung on one wall. By shining the light, he was able to see himself in his new attire.