Chapter 1

Life is a lot of things and most of it’s shit if you ask me. I hear it gets better but I’ve never known that to be true. All I can say with confidence is that life isn’t fair, it’s not loving and it certainly doesn’t give a rats ass about our plans or feelings. No, as I see it, life’s just a bunch of random shitty moments with barely ... just barely, enough fun sprinkled in between to keep us from blowing our goddamned brains out.

At least that’s my experience.

So perhaps it should come as no surprise to learn that I was caught with my pants down, getting ready to enjoy a five-cent hooker when those demons first lit up the night sky. It had been months since I’d enjoyed the company of a woman but fortune wouldn’t even grant me this small victory. For rather than getting a much needed release, I got handed the royal screw job as the heavens released hell upon us all.

To add insult to injury, I’d been fucked over much earlier and therefore should’ve been nowhere near this shit filled town as it faced its Armageddon. I should have been miles away, oblivious to the concerns of these cowering citizens. But oh no, here I was in Wichita, Kansas on August 4, 1875 with every other cursed asshole.

Don’t get me wrong, nobody here deserved this intrusion, even if they’re a bunch of shitheads as is my suspicion. Fact is even douche bags deserve better not to mention a little treat after finishing a series of backbreaking, hellish jobs like most of us just had.

Obviously that’s too much to ask for.

The massive rumbling overhead stopped my gal cold. The two of us just stared at each other without making a sound. I’d never heard noises like that before and it was enough to scare the shit out of me.

My whore rushed outdoors first, but I caught up quick enough, just had to pull my pants up first. Soon I found myself outside, staring up at that ungodly vessel descending from the night’s sky, wondering how something that big could fly. The massive object overhead blocked out most of the stars and, if it continued to descend, would crush us all under its enormous birth and weight.

Is this real? Am I dreaming? What kind of a nightmare is this?

It seemed everyone else was thinking the same things for we all stood there, on the veranda of the whorehouse, cowboys and whores alike, just gazing up at the heavens while witnessing Hell arrive, ever so slowly, onto Earth ... completely unobstructed.

Never had the Wild West experienced a sight like this before. Nobody said it aloud, but I think we all understood the implications just the same; that flying thing spelled imminent doom for us all and we could do nothing to stop it from truly fucking us over if that was its intention.

I tried to push that depressing thought from my brain as I continued to stare up, with mouth agape, at this awesome sight while they made their terrifying entrance. The vessel’s arrival was slow, smooth and graceful yet it caused grown ass men to shit their pants. While most freaked out and began shooting wildly into the night sky, I had a much more morbid reaction. I didn’t cower, cry or scream as some did, but rather let out a big, deep sigh of relief.

At first I didn’t understand my strange reaction to this fateful event. It wasn’t like I had optimism for the future, especially not now. I didn’t assume this was a benevolent visit nor did I expect these guests to bestow good tidings upon us or to help advance our species in any meaningful way. In fact I fully expected these shitheads to destroy us all without so much as breaking a sweat.

So why was I relieved?

Like a dumbass, I stared on, asking myself that very question until the answer hit me scare in the gut. It seemed obvious but I hadn’t realized it until just then. Fact is, I wanted to die but was too chicken shit to do it myself. The sight of these fucking invaders meant someone else would put me out of my goddamned misery and for that I was grateful beyond words.

How pathetic is that?

I longed for my own end more than I wanted to live, but hadn’t noticed until now. So maybe I should thank these assholes for the clarity. Maybe without their visit I’d never have learned that about myself. Maybe a bit of gratitude was in order.

Nah. Fuck that shit.

Instead I closed my eyes as their flying pod hovered just overhead. Their ship was enormous, wider than our entire town, and I knew we were about to be fired upon as small cannon-like tubes emerged from within their darkened vessel. The end was near and I, for one, was embracing it with a big fucking smile and an exposed middle finger.

Boom! A loud explosion echoed all around us and a massive wave of energy overcame me and my fellow men. Everything went dark and I fell hard to the ground. This had to be the end.

We’re all dead.

Or so I thought.

But who am I kidding? Only a fucking dumbass would think like that. I’d never had the kind of luck needed to go out that peacefully so why did I think my fortunes had suddenly changed?

We hadn’t died. Nah, we’d just been rendered unconscious but for how long was anyone’s guess. It’s just another shitty moment to add to the fucking list. As I laid there on the cold, hard ground, in that half conscious and unconscious state, I could only think about the shit filled circumstances that led me to this whorehouse as proof of my goddamn misfortune and miserable luck.

It started six weeks ago, back at my newly acquired farm. I’d been minding my own goddamn business when James Dolan and his four armed goons rode up to my place and asked me to drove cattle for them. Normally I’d of said yes but circumstances had changed. I was now a Texas tenant farmer and felt big enough to turn him down. So I did just that and boy, what a great feeling it was for me.

Maybe that should’ve been my wakeup call.

Of course, I declined his offer with hat in hand and did so as respectfully as I could muster. James Dolan is one of the richest and most influential men in Lincoln County, and doesn’t hear the word no very often.

He looked me over from head to toe and cocked his head as he let my response sink in. “You sure about that son?” he asked with raised eyebrow. “I need a good trail boss and I’m paying top dollar. Your brothers are already on board.”

“As you can see I’m a cotton farmer now sir,” I responded truthfully, standing at the edge of my twenty acres of leased farmland. “I don’t do the trails no more. I appreciate the offer but we put the cotton in only four weeks ago, mid May. So I can’t leave for two months to drove cattle. My wife can’t tend it all on her own.”

Dolan bit his bottom lip and nodded his head in frustration. My farm was just across the Texas border, and he, along with his scowling entourage, had ridden all the way from New Mexico to ask me and this was not the reaction they’d likely anticipated.

“Okay,” he said coolly, still nodding his head while rubbing his calloused hands in a threatening fashion.

I waited for the order that would lead to a beating for my insubordination, but surprisingly nothing of the sort occurred.

“I guess you don’t need me anymore,” he said more to his men than to me. “Seems the Mad Cowboy has been saving up his wages. Maybe all you assholes could learn something from him.” He stroked his clean-shaven face and forced a smile before looking me square in the eye. “Good for you son,” he said while patting me on the shoulder.

Now first off, I’m not his son. Dolan is only six years my major. And second I hate that goddamned nickname. It got it when I was a kid and it hadn’t bestowed upon me lovingly or in a friendly fashion. Fact is, my good for nothing foster family was too lazy to learn my real name so, after I shot off my big fat mouth in anger, they started calling me Mad Cowboy. I took quite the beating for that very outburst, but somehow the title stuck. I’m a twenty-one year old man, who rarely loses his temper, yet many folk still address me that way.

Pisses me off every time.

And everyone in this godforsaken state is a cowboy one way or another. Even the bankers and lawyers who dress up all pretty like are cow-folk at heart. We’re all stuck in these one horse towns, traveling about on clay roads, living off the resources the land provided us. Sure ain’t no civility this far west. We all fend for ourselves and couldn’t survive without the livestock, so to call me Cowboy is way too fucking obvious.

“Thank you Mr. Dolan,” I nodded respectfully. “Good luck on the trails.”

“Well if circumstances ever change you know where to find me,” Dolan offered as he climbed back onto his horse. His goons did the same. “We’re setting off in three days. If you change your mind you’re always welcome.”

“Thank you sir,” I said as Dolan and his men took off on horseback down the lonely clay lane.

I watched them disappear over the hill before turning back to my modest dwelling that offers an abundance of privacy as we’re the only farm for miles in any direction. It’s just me, my wife, the livestock, our shitty house, two small barns and a couple sheds. After that you got nothing but a few tended fields and plenty of woodland.

Ain’t nothing more as far as the eye can see.

Independent farming was a new endeavour for me. I’d been droving for Dolan, and other cattle barons like him, since I was 14 years old, giving me nearly seven years of experience. I started off as a horse wrangler but worked my way up the ladder and soon took over as a trail boss. I’m actually pretty good at it and don’t say that humbly but with all the arrogance it’s due. I hardly ever bring ‘em in late nor do I often lose any outside my control. I always keep them well fed and healthy and nobody ever steals from me or my crew.

As a result, James Dolan pays me well. I make $115 a month moving anywhere from 1,000 to 2,000 head while the boys under me made half that. Thanks to this steady work I’ve been able to squirrel away enough coin to offset the credit needed for this tenant farm.

“What was that all about Buck?” my bitter wife asked me as I hustled up the front steps of our unpainted house.

“He wanted me as a trail boss,” I said without stopping. “Has a thousand Longhorns to move. I imagine he acquired them dishonest like but that’s his business.”

“What?” Susan asked in that nagging tone of hers. “You’re going off with the boys and leaving me to tend the cotton all on my own? You’re a selfish prick.”

“Calm down,” I replied, shooting her a nasty stare. “I turned him down.”

“Yeah right,” she scoffed, following me into the humble kitchen. “You said NO to James Dolan? The same man who killed another in cold blood and shot a Calvary Captain at the fort. Do you think I’m a brainless shithead? You’re not man enough.”

I stopped and spun around, staring at Susan with as much contempt as I could muster. “Goddamn you woman. I can never win with you.”

“Well there’s no way you refused and are standing straight to tell the tale,” Susan scurried to the cooking stove and gave the soup a good stirring. “He rode way out here to Texas, all the way from Lincoln County, to ask for your services and you’re telling me he just left without putting up so much as a fight?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” I replied as I unfastened my holster and got ready for supper. “Maybe I’m not the total fuckup you think I am. Maybe I have more clout and balls than you give me credit for.”

Susan laughed and I wanted to smack her for the outburst but I’d never laid a hand on her in rage and wasn’t going to start now, no matter how much she pissed me off. I’d seen enough of that with my foster folks. I didn’t want to be anything like those fucking assholes.