Bullet Catcher: The Wolf Comes Home

By Joaquin Lowe

No one has seen Imma for almost a year. After the destruction of the dam at Damnation, she disappeared, and with rebel groups plotting sabotage against the gunslinger control of all the other dams in Southland, she?ÇÖs needed now more than ever. The fight over fresh, cold water can?ÇÖt be won without the help of a bullet catcher.

 

But Imma doesn?ÇÖt want to be a hero anymore. After a devastating loss, she?ÇÖs weary of rebellion and wracked with grief. Nothing anyone says can convince her to lead the people of Southland into further suffering?Çöbecause that?ÇÖs surely all that awaits them if they tangle once more with the enemy. That is, until Nikko and Cass show up with an intriguing offer: to find the few remaining bullet catchers who survived the first war.

 

In the final instalment of Joaquin Lowe?ÇÖs pulse-pounding trilogy, Imma makes one last journey towards the ultimate showdown between bullet catchers and gunslingers that, if she succeeds, will liberate her from the pain of the past, and free the people of Southland from tyranny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Realm
• Release date: Mar 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781682108499

Book preview

Table of Contents

Bullet Catcher The Wolf Comes Home

Table of Contents

1. Death in Watertown

2. The Gunslinger

3. The Road

4. Find Imma

5. A Day in the Life in Watertown

6. Together Again

7. Reunions

8. Half Moon

9. Fear of Death

10. Trust

11. The Hermit

12. The Road Home

13. The Lovers

14. The Last Days of Watertown

15. Last Ride of the Bullet Catchers

16. After Watertown

Bullet Catcher

The Wolf Comes Home

Joaquin Lowe

Table of Contents

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Episode 5

Episode 6

Episode 7

Episode 8

Episode 9

Episode 10

Episode 11

Episode 12

Episode 13

Episode 14

Copyright Page

1. Death in Watertown

. . . perhaps, when it got utterly dark, the peace of the darkness would become the same as light so that my last experience would become as mysterious and musical as my first . . .

—Derek Raymond, He Died with His Eyes Open

The mist hangs over the roofs of the houses, thick and gray, mellowing the daylong heat. The sound of the waterfall rumbles. By now, they’ve grown used to the sound of it, the feeling of the ground trembling beneath their feet. Their voices muffled by noise.

Naq scans the street. Bronze, hardpacked earth, crossed with wagon tracks and boot prints. The boardwalk groans under the weight of so many feet, crowding the storefronts of the general store, the candy shop, the saloons and gambling halls. The air smells of water and sawdust. There’s an energy in this place, Naq thinks. Hope.

You feel that, son?

What’s that, Sheriff?

The sheriff smiles through the bristles of his mustache. The light glances off the mirror of his silver, star-shaped badge. You feel it, he says. This town. It’s different. Here, a person can think about tomorrow, as though there’s some promise in it. He closes his eyes and breathes deep the humid air. And then he looks at Naq and says, Let’s on our way, then.

The two men, one old, one young, walk the new streets, their daily, morning routine. Hard to imagine it’s been almost two years. Two years since Damnation, when the dam broke and spilled water into this dry basin at the foot of the plateau, turning the cracked dead ground black and green. People came from all over in no time. They brought families, and lumber, and dried, empty barrels waiting to be filled with water. The town sprung up almost overnight. First just a few tents along the riverbank. Then a few cabins, here and there. And then, it seems to Naq, he opened his eyes one morning and found before him a grid of streets, peopled with so many immigrants there was no choice but to found a town. They called it Watertown, and it seemed there was no other place in the North or Southland with so much promise.

The two men come to the end of town and turn toward the river. The earth grows muddy here. Planks have been set down to let people walk without getting their boots stuck in the muck. Tall grass and sweet-smelling flowers, petals gold and violet, grow all around the planks that cut back and forth across the field between the town and the river.

At the edge of the water, a man and a woman wade waist-deep in the water, dragging their damp laundry across a pair of washboards. The woman eyes the men watching them from the bank and waves. The sheriff tips his cap. Suds float along the water. Farms line the far bank: nascent fruit trees and lines of green things, too small and far away to see. Naq looks upriver, letting his eye trace the slightly winding path of the river, up to the base of the falls, where he follows the blue-white line skyward, until it disappears in the mist. Down here, so close to the water, it’s too loud to speak, and they’ve grown used to not even trying.

Naq looks at the sheriff. His eyes are closed. He takes in big lungfuls of air. He’s an old gunslinger, but a good man all the same, Naq thinks. The sun-faded tattoo on the back of his hand speaks to his younger days. Thick white scars cross it in the shape of an X––the result, he’d told Naq, of getting so drunk and so low he’d tried to cut it off his hand. As if it would have done anything to erase the things I’d done, he said.

For a long time, the residents of Watertown had not wanted a sheriff. They dreamed of a new kind of place where the people could govern themselves, and treat each other with kindness, and share. For the first time in any of their lives, there was more than enough to go around. And even when new people arrived, and the borders of the town ballooned outward, peace seemed an easy thing.

And then the gunslingers came. They saw them first by the cloud of dust trailing behind their horses, zigzagging down the switchback trail leading up the plateau. And later that morning, they rode down Main Street, their faces dark with bad news. Naq and Cass and Nikko greeted them in the road. They didn’t bother dismounting. One of them drew her shooter and rested it in her lap.

We bring news, she said.

Then deliver it, Nikko said.

She fixed him with a look that said she knew exactly who he was. By order of the gunslingers, this place has been cited as an illegal gathering. Y’all are ordered to pack up and clear out.

And if we refuse?

The woman leaned closer and fixed Nikko with a stare. Well then, I reckon there’d be hell to pay, traitor. Then she’d sat up in the saddle and pulled the reins, making her horse dance in a circle, kicking up dust all around her. She drew her gun and fired into the air, before riding out of town and back up the switchbacks to Damnation.

That night they elected the sheriff. That was nearly three months back, and beside the odd band of gunslingers tearing through town and causing little miseries, there never had been that hell to pay that had been promised.

Naq feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s the sheriff, smiling down at him, framed by the soft light of the sun through the mist. He cocks his head back toward the road. Can’t stand around here all day daydreaming, his eyes say. They turn and there she is: the gunslinger. Naq only recognizes her after the flash, like the orange burst of a firework. The crashing water swallows the sound, so all he hears is a pop.

The sheriff’s eyes go wide as the bullet bursts his skin and burrows into his guts. The gunslinger smiles as she kills him. She smiles as she turns the gun on Naq. She’s still smiling when he tackles her, wrestling for the gun. They fall backward into the tall grass, into the deep, dark muck below. Her finger is on the trigger. He holds the pistol by the barrel. It waves over their heads. The gun whispers: Pop. Pop. Pop. His hands burn from the heat coming off it before he plunges it into the ground, filling the barrel and chambers with mud.

The gunslinger wrestles free and climbs on top of him, bringing the mud-caked shooter down on him again and again, until he’s finally able to throw her off. He pulls himself free from the muck, grabs her by the hair, and pushes her face into the mud. Her hands reach desperately for his shirt, grabbing him, but the mud sucks her down until she’s nearly disappeared and, after a few moments, she goes still.

Looking up, he sees the couple who’d been washing clothes down in the river. They stand on the planks, their hands outstretched. They haul him up. He sits on the planks, his legs dangling into the mud. His hands and the lower half of his body are black with the stuff. He draws a black streak across his face, trying to wipe the sweat from his eyes. He turns and locks eyes with the sheriff. Naq closes the sheriff’s eyes, muddying the dead man’s cheeks and nose. He’s too tired to move, so he sits there, tracking the sun as it arcs behind the mist, until the washer-people fetch help, and a couple cowboys come to lift him to his feet and help him back to town.

#

The gunslinger’s body is dragged into the saloon and hefted onto one of the card tables, twice as heavy because of the muck clinging to her clothes and skin. She’s only got one boot. The other was lost by the river. Her legs dangle off the side, dripping dark water onto the sawdust-covered floorboards. The sheriff’s body is laid out on the bar, his arms crossed over his chest and his face cleaned. The barman stands over him with a few other townsfolk, quietly drinking to the dead man.

Naq sits at a table against the windows, a glass of snakebite half-drunk before him. His hands still shake, worse now than at the river. It’s been a long while since he killed someone. And then he’d promised himself never again. Now he sits there, looking at the body, thinking of that broken promise.

Naq! He looks up and there’s Nikko, waving his hand in front of his face. You in there?

I’m here, he says, clearing his throat.

You look like hell. Nikko stares deep into his eyes. He’s the kind of man who can do that without fearing what the other man’ll see. He doesn’t wear a glove over his tattooed hand like a lot of the other ex-gunslingers; he’d never’ve bothered trying to cut the tattoo off him like the sheriff had done—probably why the old man was elected instead of him. He reminds Naq of Imma. They’re practically twins. Same eyes. Same triangle of a nose. But Naq tries not to think of her too much.

Maybe you better lie down.

I’m fine, Naq says, slugging the last of the snakebite.

Nikko takes the seat beside him. Rainer comes through the doors and Nikko waves him over. He plants a kiss on the top of Nikko’s head before settling in beside him.

The whole town’s heard by now, Rainer says to Naq. Word is they’re going to name you sheriff. His voice melts into the commotion around the room, so that Naq can’t make out what he’s saying, and Rainer leans into Nikko, whispering conspiratorially.

Outside the people have started gathering in hopes of seeing the body, forming a makeshift procession. At first there’s only a dozen or so, but the line quickly grows to a hundred or more. To Naq, peeking out the window, it looks like at least half the town.

By the body, Cass talks with the doctor, then she opens up the gunslinger’s mud-caked vest and starts going through her pockets. She finds a fob watch. A few coins. A flask. And a letter, folded three times and stuck together. She brings it over and unfolds it on the table in front of them. There are only three words written on the paper:

Kill the sheriff.

Nikko picks up the paper and studies it like there’s more there. That’s how we— he says before stopping himself. That’s how they do it. They keep it simple, so even the dullest gunslinger gets the order.

You’d think they’d make sure the bastard has a brain before handing them a gun, Cass sneers, grabbing the paper and slamming it back on the table.

Nikko looks at her. Since when did you have to have a brain to pull a trigger?

Naq stares at the paper, those three words running like a train through his mind. Cass goes over to the sheriff’s body, fidgets with something on his chest, and when she comes back she puts the silver, star-shaped badge on the table, beside the letter.

You gonna pick it up, or am I gonna have to pin it on you myself? Cass says. Naq picks it up. It’s heavier than he thought it’d be. He pins it to his chest.

To the sheriff, the barman says, and everyone in the saloon raises their glass to Naq. To the sheriff, they repeat. Cass nods and claps him on the shoulder. And that’s that.

#

Late that night, Naq sits in his cabin, drinking snakebite. A fire burns in the cast-iron stove. His bed stands to one side, unslept in. The light from the oil lamps cast deep shadows around the room. He’s never gotten used to this place, the largeness of space all to himself. Not since Imma left. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he retreats to his vardo, parked in the dirt beside the house. It still feels more like home than this place.

He unfolds the paper Cass found on the dead gunslinger and rereads those three words: Kill the sheriff. He shivers and throws another log in the stove. The silver sheriff’s badge sits dully on the table in front of him.

He finishes the snakebite and begins to pour himself another. Then he thinks better of it, thinks about that look Imma would get when he’d had too much. He puts the stopper in the bottle, grabs the badge and his hat, and heads out into the cold, sobering night air.

#

Nikko’s tinker shop is near the center of town. Darkness hangs heavy and cool over the rooftops. This late at night, it’s the only building with a light burning behind the drawn windows. Naq knocks and steps inside.

Nikko and Rainer sit facing each other behind the shop’s front desk, which doubles as Nikko’s workbench. They look up at the sound of the door opening, but when they see it’s Naq, they go back to whatever they were talking about. They have this way of talking to one another, this quiet, serious whispering that makes everything seem like a secret. Now, they’re speaking so quiet that Naq doesn’t want to intrude. He begins to leave but Nikko holds up a hand. Rainer whispers some final thing and then stands, gives Nikko a kiss, and smiles tiredly at Naq, before disappearing behind the curtain that separates their living space from the shop.

Nikko runs his hands through his hair, the look on his face like he and Rainer had been talking for hours. There’s some half-built gizmo—a glove with little brass barbs arching over the knuckles—laying on the grease-stained leather cloth before him.

What brings you here so late? Nikko asks.

Naq shrugs, pretends to look at the watches in Nikko’s small display case. Couldn’t sleep, is all.

Thinking about Imma?

How did you know?

’Cause you only ever come by when you are. It’s like I remind you of her.

It’s—

It’s fine, Nikko says, cutting him off. I’ll take it as a compliment. A silence falls over the room, before Nikko clears his throat and says, I miss her, too.

She’s not the only reason I couldn’t sleep.

What then?

Naq takes the sheriff’s badge from his pocket and puts it on the counter beside Nikko’s gizmo. They stare at it like it’s a coiled snake they’d come upon in the brush.

It wasn’t fair for Cass to have put that on you.

I could have said no.

She knew you wouldn’t. Not in front of all those people.

Naq snatches it and pushes it deep into his pocket.

They’ll be coming for you, Nikko continues. They target the lawmen. Kill enough of ’em and it breaks the town’s spirit.

I know it.

So, what are you going to do about it?

Lose sleep. Drink a bit more. Try not to die. What else is there?

Rainer and I had been talking about something. He waves for Naq to come closer, as though afraid of eavesdroppers. We find Imma.

What would that do?

Well, for one, maybe you’d stop limping around like some wounded puppy. But for another, no one strikes fear into the gunslingers like Imma. Except Lobo, of course. And second, if you hadn’t noticed, morale round here hasn’t been the same since she left. People thought of her as a kind of guardian angel.

Naq shakes his head. It’s no use. If she doesn’t want to be found then she won’t be.

Or maybe you’re just afraid of seeing her again.

Maybe I am.

What happened between you two?

Lobo died. She wasn’t the same after that. She had to go through the grief of it twice. And I don’t expect the first time made it any easier.

Nikko nods. A person like that dying leaves a mark on the world.

I barely knew him, but I reckon that’s true. He looks at the big clock on the wall. I ought to be heading home.

He’s at the door when Nikko says, Think on it, Sheriff. Think about what it would mean to see her again. Not just for you. For all of us.

Naq slips through the door without another word. Outside, the sky is dark and starless. There are never any stars over Watertown. Sheriff. He turns the word over in his head. It had made him flinch, when Nikko called him it. And when he