-Complete- #happinessawards24
A zombie apocalypse with a twist of Native American Lore.
It all began from a sequence of events so absurd, complicated and uncommon as to be unbelievable but an ancient Hopi Pueblo Prophecy predicted a time when the...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
There Comes A Time
From a vantage point above the Wetherill Mesa Road in the Badger House Community, Game Warden John Christie Buchanan looked down the scope of his bolt action Weatherby and got a fix on the disturbance going on down there on the park road. It was the winding part. Not quite to the gated entrance but far enough away to be random. His horse stood silent behind him. Buchanan was on his way back to the Spruce Tree section of Mesa Verde National Park when he heard the distinct pop of a gun followed by the horrified screams of a woman echo through the high walls of canyon arroyos and he got off his Palomino mare to investigate, walking several feet into the scrub tree lined edged of the small plateau.
Down below, at a few hundred feet distance, a threesome of delinquents had surrounded a car and proceeded to attack the occupants, an elderly couple, which Buchanan could see through his scope. The old man lay dead on the road which, he was sure, had prompted the terrified screams. Such outright disregard for the elderly, Buchanan thought with clenched teeth. Such downright disdain for human life. Such reckless hatred. White hot anger rolled up his spine from the crack of his ass and he took aim on the gun holder even as that miscreant pulled the trigger and dropped the old woman where she stood on the gravelly shoulder of the desolate road.
I'll help you people, Buchanan whispered to himself as he squeezed his trigger and the shooter crumpled to the ground beside his victim. The other two bolted for cover but not before Buchanan picked off a second and gained sight on the third. He kept his sights trained on the area where number three had hid behind the car of the couple he had just conspired to send to the netherworld and waited.
He had plenty of time.
Of all his days in Vietnam he had not felt the outrage he felt at this moment and when the number three sorry excuse for a man chanced a peek through the backseat door window, Buchanan squeezed off his third and final round. It crashed through that backseat window on Buchanan's side, through the backseat and through the glass on the other side where the yellow-bellied coward peeked up from hiding and found its target.
John, "Buck the System, Buck, for short," Buchanan slowly stood up, walked over and thrust his rifle back in the saddle holster, mounted his horse and rode off. It was damn hot today and by gosh he was feeling old. Hell, he was old, he thought wryly to himself, but not too old to hit his target. A slow smile formed on his rugged sun bronzed face and his right hand rested confidently on the mahogany stock of his favorite rifle.
He had ridden up to Badger House Community to check the roads and make sure the gates at this western end of the park were still closed and locked from looters and squatters. In the days since this devil virus, as he called it, had occurred, most everyone but him had evacuated leaving the park deadly silent and in the last few days the final vestiges of folk had gone, running for what they hoped were safer havens. But not Buchanan. Everything he had in the world was tied up here in Mesa Verde and besides, he would soon be having company. If they could make it.
