Josh made his way back to his office once he had finished examining the graveyard. Once he did so, he opened his desk and poured himself a glass of Tennessee whisky. He drained it even before sitting down at his desk.

None of this made sense. Whoever did this only wanted the bodies, since their will still plenty of valuables left behind. But who would need so many? Why wasn't there a single set of footprints? And how did they do this without anyone realizing it until this morning?

The Sheriff had his thoughts interrupted by someone walking into his office. Without looking up, Josh poured himself another drink.

"If this is about the graveyard, I have no answers for you."
-----

Father Stone was all too happy with the bounty hunter's apparent piety. "Thank the Lord for men like you, good sir. Your profession is a sinful one, but the heavenly father looks favorably on repentant sinners. Please, find our poor sheriff. He made need all the help he can get."

"So Jack .. mind if I tag along?" Kira asked, sprinting up to Jack. She was awfully bored with the Saloon and the faces were becoming stale to glance upon. She may have been a catch to gaze at with a double take but right now she wanted to be with someone, that someone is Jack.

By now the drinks she had consumed had made her a bit topsy turvy but she was a woman who could handle her alcoholic beverages well. She also took to leaning against the railing one lack and red high heeled boot pressed against the wood while the other was firmly rooted to the ground, her long ruby red and pitch black as night dress matching with her pale skin. She brushed a strand of long hair beind her ear and smiled, feeling at peace with the evening that had loomed over the vast endless lands of LongWater.

"So .. who do you thing has done such an awful deed?" She asked her new friend, taking a hit of tobacco from her own neatly self made of cigarette she lit with a match from her steady supply of them. "This seems to not have been done by any animal, this looks like a very clean kidnapping of bodies, I agree with the grave robbing."

She flashed a smirk, finding not many clues since the ones responsible may have been her kind. She may have been vampire but she knew when to clean up her messes. She did not wish to be caught and staked by a finely sharp point of wood. She stayed low, making sure not to gather any attention to her true nature whenever the sun went down or whenever she was hungering for blood to fill her empty stomach.

"Mind if I travel with you a bit? it is a bit lonely out here alone without a big strong ally on my side." She said, flirting abit. She wanted to be with someone who could be on her second in command whenever she needed to protect herself in this big bad world.

"Have a good day father." Achille stated as he bowed his head to Father Stone respectfully. So far so good... he earned the trust of the local clergy which would likely prove valuable down the line. With his read on the town somewhat complete, The bounty hunter took a gaze towards the sheriff's office, intending on making good of his word to see the man in charge only to notice that the drunk Irish soldier from earlier had already made his way over. How unfortunate... it would be difficult to approach the sheriff and get a proper read on things if the irish drunk was there also to potentially distract him. Yet as Achille took a moment to analyze the town and reflect on Colm's words, Achille figured that Colm was more than just his first impression. Likely a former soldier, Achille privately guessed, judging from the rival... perhaps he did have his uses.

It was here that Achille then noticed the pair of individuals who emerged from the saloon to listen in on the previous conversation. Judging from their appearances they were both relatively young looking but both distinct in presences. The man had a certain relaxed aura around him though his words gave off the impression that despite his age, he was at least knowledgeable on criminalistics activities. The female however had a different presence. There was something off about her, something... supernaturally familiar and the way she clung on to the man's side...

Achille's eyes narrowed, his face hardening behind his bandana. "There is another?" He privately thought. It seems there was yet another complication. The matter would have to be addressed another time however, especially since they were in daylight. The bounty hunter took a step towards Jack and Kira, his face all covered except for a pair of dark and intense eyes. "Do you speak from experience?" Achille questioned aloud, focusing on Jack.

"In these... peculiar times it seems we could all use a friend." Achille said, his head gesturing subtly in Kira's direction. "Now it seems like you have one but perhaps you can be generous and possibly tell this wandering gunslinger on what you know about this town they call Longwater."

Jack responded to Kira's request for companionship with a subtle upward nod, beckoning her forward. As she caught up with him just outside, she inquired about the identity of the grave tamperer.

"Couldn't tell ya," he admitted, his words sounding out in an exhale of smoke. "I haven't been here for too long. Only got a general feel for the place and the folks in it. Seems like the flavor of degenerate that would mess with a grave would be akin to either a batshit crazy loon, some down-on-his luck loser looking for a score, or... I dunno... Maybe something else." The sort of notion certainly forced Jack to look at the people around him with a little more scrutiny. At best, there was some low talent thieving bottom feeder among them. He'd have to keep a close eye on his billfold and always keep his back toward a corner. At worst, there was an unpredictable deviant in town, in which case Jack need only to keep his gun loaded and his hand near the holster. His curiosity was laced with excitement. Alas, he tried to maintain his poker face.

"I could do well with some company," Jack stated, allowing his eyes to lock onto Kira's for but a moment. She was attractive, bold and direct. In Jack's circles, someone like that could prove very useful. Business aside, she was certainly an upgrade from the last woman he spent any time with. This could be fun.

"Do you speak from experience?" The peculiar man's voice seized Jack's attention as he approached, no doubt overhearing his hypothesis on the crime.

"Not directly," he said back casually. "But what else would any sane individual get outta foolin' with dead bodies?" The odd man's attention then moved onto his newly acquired companion before offering her a question as well. His eyes continued to scan this masked enigma. He simply couldn't decide how to read him. He was requesting friendship, but also information, all while armed and anonymous. Jack couldn't shake the eerie vibe he was getting, but decided to mute his concern for now.

Christina stayed in the graveyard sometime after others had left. Seeing that even the Sheriff has no idea what happened here and why was just too much for her to handle. If the authorities could not even fathom such a crime, how were they going to solve it?

Old bones. Christina was furious when she remembered his words. Her mother was no ‘old bones’. She was a healer who has done a lot of good for the town and her body didn’t deserve to be disgraced in this way. Young girl forbade herself from imagining what someone would possibly do with so many corpses, but thoughts of old stories still kept creeping into her mind. Graverobbers would take valuables but would have no use for bodies. There were other tales about beings not quite from this world - folks around the campfires whispered about ghouls, walking dead, or strange winged creatures, the natives passed stories about the mysterious Wendigo, but Christina had always dismissed them as fantasies without any real base.

She couldn’t stay on the defiled graveyard any longer, so she jumped on Betsie and rode back to town, heading straight for the Lone Heart. As she was tying her horse outside, her gaze fell on some strange people talking on the front porch. Newcomers weren’t any rare sight in Longwater, for most the town was just an overnight stop on their way from east to west (or vice versa), but in the current situation, people were looking at strangers more carefully. Could any of these strange figures be the wanted culprit?

The door swung smoothly as she entered the saloon. She was not a frequent visitor there, in fact, this was the first time she came in as a customer. Climbing on one of the barstools, she nodded at the bartender. “Pour me a glass."

He looked at her with doubt. “Hun’ are you sure? You should go home.”

Of course, he knew her, probably ever since she was a baby. “Give me a glass of something or I’ll tell everyone why do you keep scratching your crotch,” she hissed at him quietly and he obliged. Being a healer meant she had to keep a lot of secrets, but this was the first time she used them against anyone. She was definitely not her usual cheery and positive self. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled as he handed her the drink. The barman just tapped her shoulder and moved to serve other patrons.

The liquid in the glass looked like water, but sure as hell didn’t smell like it. Christina drank it all at once, trying not to cough as it burned its way through her throat and stomach, forcing tears into her eyes. Dead God, why the hell does anyone drink this? A few coins landed on the counter and she left the saloon, deciding that drinking is not an acceptable way to forget about her troubles. She leaned against the railing outside, waiting for her stomach to calm.

“What do you think there is to know about the town?” she asked a tall stranger. All covered in black, the only visible part of his body were his eyes - definitely a suspicious fellow. “It’s a normal town like any other. People live their normal lives here, working hard to provide for their families. A lot of strangers pass through, but until now we haven’t had any bigger troubles than a few drunken fights and one or two armed robberies. Sure, drunken folks tell strange stories, but who would listen to them?” she shrugged.

“If you are looking for friends though, you might have a hard time. People here don’t trust strangers easily.” She curiously looked at the other two fellows, a handsome guy and an enchantingly beautiful lady in a gorgeous dress.

Colm had stepped into the Sheriff's office. Ah, good. He's in. He listened carefully to the mans' statement, and straightened himself up, as if he was standing in formation. Some things never leave ya, do they, boyo? "Private Colm MacPherson, formerly of the 88th New York Regiment of The Irish Brigade; also-" He hesitated. He felt himself about to choke on his words, and decided against mentioning having anything to do with General Sherman. "Also, a brief stint on the frontier, sir." There, not really a lie, than, is it? "Newly arrived, newly retired, and eager to offer my services in light of the current crisis, sir!"

He paused, and looked confused as he realized he was saluting, as if he really was speaking to an officer of the army... He forced himself to put his arm down. "If'n y'll accept me help, sir- Sheriff, sir..." He squeezed his eyes shut tight with frustration- Jaysus, Mary 'n Joseph, at least oi've got a couple a good drinks in me, lest the man see me with the shakes...

Kira smiled wide once again as she was accepted by sexy, handsome Jack, joining him in the searching for any clues in the strange grave robber. She could sense many saddened humans nearby but she knew that it was because of the snatching of the bodies of their loved ones. She searched graves, trying her very hardest to not move anything to disturb the resting place of the such hollow vessels that were grabbed.

She looked at Christina, the woman who was leaning against the railing, emmotionally sensing her sadness. She may have been able to do that since she was born but she kept that secret to herself. "Jack and me here are friends, what brings you to the saloon? young one?" She asked, not wanting to be too into the mysterious woman's business but just making small talk. "Even here you can find friends, you just have to find where to look and be patient." She smiled once more, trying to cheer up the depressed woman who seemed down in the dumps.

She sighed as her search came up empty like the holes in the graveyard, arising to her heels, dusting her dress off. She walked over to Jack, asking him the same question she had in her own head. "Find anything yet .. hmm .. this is strange?" She adjusted the bright red rose in her hair, the sun making her skin glow like a thousand crystal diamonds. Her bright blue eyes becoming of a bright blue that shined beneath it's rays. Being a vampire had it's perks, perks like being enchantingly beautiful through the ages and never aging a single day.

She wanted nothing more than to solve the grave robberies and put this whole thing to a permanent rest once and for all.

"Private?" Josh said, crossing his arms. Colm looked a little old to be a private, but if he managed to make it all the way to retirement, then he was likely a very good soldier. Still, he looked a little shaky.

"Look, friend. I'm sure you're very qualified, but this looks like simple grave-robbery. In spite of the odd circumstances, anyway. If it gets worse, I'll be sure to-" said Josh before he was cut off by a scream. Then another. Then a dozen more.

The Sheriff instinctually reached for his shotgun and made sure it was loaded before running outside past Colm. "We will discuss this later!" he yelled back to the old soldier.
------

Standing tall at the far end of town, past the saloons and underneath the shadow of a massive water tower, were a horde of the dead. Still dressed in their Sunday best, they unmoving throng were still familiar to those residents of Longwater who remembered them. At their head, pacing back and forth, was a tall man in a long black duster. On his hip sat an old Colt that still looked dangerous in spite of it's rust.

When Josh pushed his way pass the onlookers, he leveled his shotgun at the man and the mass of corpses behind him. The Sheriff tried to call out, demand an explanation, but found his throat to be completely dry. All he could do was stare in horror at the impossible sight laid out before him.

As the small group conversed amongst themselves, Achille's gaze intensified immediately. There was something in the air, there was no question about it. With his abilities weakened, the bounty hunter had no choice but to expose his face to get a better read on his suspicions. Raising a gloved hand, Achille lowered his bandana revealing his clean shaven, square jawed face. It was almost anti dramatic that for an individual to be so covered up have no spectacular secrets. There were no scars, tattoos, odd markings... nothing that adorned his face. Yet in the most subtle of expressions, Achille grimaced briefly as the sun kissed the parts of his exposed, pale face. After taking a moment to compose himself, Achille smelled the air... his suspicions confirmed. Turning his head towards the direction of the smell, Achille watched the undead horde make itself known to the town.

Running past the crowd, Achille took note of what appeared to be the sheriff rushing towards the undead, prepared to engage the horde. "I suppose if any of you can wield a weapon, might as well make yourself useful. If not... it's probably best you run now." The bounty hunter stated bluntly as he stepped away from the group. Walking towards where he had hitched his muscular, breton horse Achille grabbed the repeater riffle that was attached to a hoister on the horse's saddle with one hand, while placing his other hand on his gun belt which housed his two ornate revolvers.

Taking measured steps, his eyes fixated on the horde, Achille placed himself alongside the sheriff, his tone drifting between a serious, and sarcastic measure. "Judging from that look on your face, I'm guessing introductions can wait. I hope you don't freeze on me if this goes south.".Prepping his trigger finger, Achille's eyes zoomed in the individual who appeared to be leading the horde, his stance ready for whatever was to come.

Kira was about to ask her new friend Jack another question when she sensed a scent that made her blood run colder than ice and seemed to freeze from flowing any further. She also silently sniffed the air a few times as if a wolf would do to gain information of it's surroundings, mentally mumbing before she turned around swiftly, her long locks of black hair brushing against the bare fresh of her elegant, swan like neck while trying to figure out the origin of a loud, unknow screamn like outburst before it even happened.

As if in sync she heard a few more of them in a few other directions. She was not terrified but she was concerned, deeply concerned for what happened, nodding as he heard Achille. She had premonitions and that was what she was gifted with since her birth. She could see thing that happened before well .. before it happened.

So that was it .. the dead had risen, she had heard this in many movies and fictional books she had read. She was also one of them. She was a vampire but she did not wish harm on humans like the undead did. She just needed to quench her thirst from time to time.

She reached down and undid her holster that was attached to her side, undoing the two pistols that were her most prized companions she owned. She was given them from her beloved father before he was hunted and staked through the heart by the humans she was taught to despise. Through it all she never hated them, she could never hate them, nor could she ever have the courage to take any of their lives.

She twirled them in her hands once like the true outlaw she did, never giving into her fears of the zombies. "Alright you bastards .. time to send you back where you belong!" She shouts, one of the rotting hellish, hollow vesseled zombies dragging a limp foot toward the graveyard and near Jack and Kira with a loud groan as if a fresh death rattle. She aimed one of her pistols and did not hesitate although something told her to.

Once she did she aimeed, squeezed the trigger and stared, watching the zombie become flung backward with a bullet loddged in it's forehead, resisting an urge to hiss at it as she saw blood squirting out it's fresh wound like a sprinkler.

"Find anything yet," Kira had asked. Jack raised an inquisitive eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak before catching a glimpse of a young woman, eager to give everyone a gist overview of the town.

"If you are looking for friends though, you might have a hard time. People here don’t trust strangers easily,” she concluded before glancing his way. Caught slightly off guard, Jack decided to shoot her a sly smirk. It was almost like a challenge, he thought. By the end of this day, I'm going to get you to trust m-

His inner monologue was cut short by the sounds of screams in the distance. One after the other, the townsfolk turned their attention toward the water tower and, more specifically, the horrifying scene at its base. The Sheriff was quick to act and the formerly masked man seemed all too excited for confrontation. Before Jack could even register just what the hell was even going on, Kira said something or other and finished her statement with gunfire.

"Gah'Damn!" Jack shouted, his hands immediately covering his ears while he flinched in auditory pain. His eyes eventually followed the line sight of the pistol and fell upon the broken, ghoulish figure that Kira had just shot. "Oh..." he uttered. "Well gah'damn." Kira seemed in fair control of the situation and her own temperament, which only served to raise questions about her character and her past. His attention drifted back toward the informative young woman, who seemed less prepared for this whole ordeal.

"Miss," he called to her. "It may be best that we head back inside," he suggested, his hand finally leaving his ear and hovering over his holster. "That sum'bitch looked pretty dead even before she shot him. I can only imagine what those fuckers down yonder look like," he said with a nod over to the incoming water tower horde. "and they don't seem like they're here for shits and grins."

He looked back at Kira, who was a living enigma behind two twin pistols. "Obviously that suggestion goes for you, too, doll" In his experience, when you're on the wrong side of a posse and hopelessly outnumbered, your best hope is to shrink down the playing field, create choke points, be mindful of escape routes. He was not keen on the idea of running out to meet the horrific mass in open road, guns a-blazing. That was a fool's tactic.

Before anyone could answer, Jack finally gripped the handle of his gun, freeing it from the confines of his belt, and headed back inside the saloon. With his unburdened hand, he reached behind the bar and grabbed an open bottle of whiskey before heading to one of the windows that faced the watertower.

"Ladies and Gents," he shouted to all the patrons therein. "If ya got cannon on ya, it's probably time to draw it. Looks like Hell's on it's way over!" He took a healthy swig of the bottle before setting it down on a nearby table and smashing out the window pane with a pistol whip. All that was left to do was aim and start firing.

When the beautiful lady called her ‘young one’, Christina raised an eyebrow. The woman didn’t really seem much older than her - more beautiful, rich, extravagant, yes, but older? Not really. Before she could respond, something changed. She couldn’t quite tell what it was exactly, maybe the wind brought a strange scent, maybe it was an odd sound, maybe it was just a strange feeling. Normally, she would brush it off as her mind playing tricks on her, but the others seemed to have noticed it as well. The masked man even removed his scarf to sniff the air like some sort of a bloodhound.

Her thoughts were interrupted by loud gunshots fired from her close vicinity. Her first thought was that the handsome man is trying to show off in front of the girls. She turned to yell at him only to see that he was also covering his ears, staring at the woman. The woman who had just shot some poor guy in broad daylight. Christina instinctively moved closer to offer help and froze in surprise. The man was dead. In fact, he was dead for several days. His name was Ernie, he was a local drunk, but a nice guy in general. Christina remembered his funeral. And now he was here, in the middle of the town, right in front of the saloon where he spent most of his waking hours. What was happening?

The man talked to her, telling her to go inside, and then disappeared inside the saloon, but Christina had just now noticed the incoming horde and her eyes were sweeping it for one person in particular. There it was, a flash of bright yellow among the sea of gray and black. Christina gulped, blinking a couple of times, hoping to wake up from this horrible nightmare. Her mother was buried in her best Sunday dress - dark blue and white, very common style and colors in the town. But she had something else on her - a scarf Christina made her, yellow with red flowers embroidered on it.

It was years ago when she saw her mother looking at a beautiful silk shawl in a local tailor’s shop window. There was no way they would spend that much money on something unnecessary. Christina and her mother both knew it, but it didn’t stop them to go take a look every time they were in town, admiring the beautiful work. Wanting to give her mother a surprise, Christina decided to make her a shawl just like that. The fabric was as far from silk as you can imagine, simple and quite scratchy, and the flowers? Well, most of them didn’t even look like flowers. But her mother still loved it and wore it to church every Sunday. And, eventually, was buried with it.

Christina stumbled back. Somebody used some sort of dark sorcery on her mother’s body, defiling it, disturbing her peaceful rest. And not just her mother, there were dozens of corpses walking the main street, every town resident was sure to find a friend or a relative in the coming horde. She could see there was some dark figure of a living man moving in front of the dead, and originally wanted to march straight to him and punch him in the face (or groin, that was yet to be decided), but seeing that the Sheriff and the masked man were already handling it, she retreated into the saloon.

The handsome stranger was already holding a gun and drinking some whiskey. Not a safe combination under normal circumstances, if you asked Christina, but then again, these were not normal circumstances. She only carried a Derringer, which would hardly be useful in the upcoming fight, but knew where to find some bigger gun.

“Ey, Carl!” she yelled at the bartender, who was hiding behind the counter. “Toss me that rifle of yours!”

“Fuck you!” he shouted back at her and crawled into a nice spot under the bar, where he usually hid during bar fights.

“Well, thanks for nothing,” she mumbled and reached for it herself. She had been here a couple of times before when treating his ‘private issue’, so she knew where he was hiding it. It was heavier than she expected, way older than her father’s rifles from when he taught her how to shoot. Hopefully, she remembered something from his lessons.

She winced when the stranger broke a window but had to agree that it was probably a good idea on how to get a clear shot. “Hello again!” she waved at him, checking the rifle cartridge. “I’m Christina.” It was a weird place for introductions, but she felt that if they were going to fight this menace from hell together, and quite possibly die together, he should at least know her name. With some effort, she managed to break one window too, aiming her rifle. But then she hesitated. She knew all these people, she treated their wounds and illnesses, she was friends with many of them, she helped deliver their babies. How could she just start shooting them?

One of the dead made a decision for her - he found a woman hiding behind a parked cart and dragged her out by her hair, jumping on her with his teeth out, growling. “Sorry, Marcus,” Christina whispered and pulled the trigger. The corpse of a butcher’s son flinched as she hit his shoulder. She was aiming for his head, but she never was an excellent shot. Still, it bought the woman some time to run away, behind the line of armed men that was forming around the Sheriff.

Kira was highly confused because of the once peacefully undead being disturbed from their eternal resting places below ground, not being fearful of them for she was foretold of this because of because of being a time traveler. She foresaw things that happened in the future.

She saw with her crystal clear vision as the water tower's base was being bombarded by what looked like thousand upon thousands of the undead, deciding whether to fight with the masked man or retreat and find shelter and live to fight aother day. She chose shelter above suffering and dying a slow demise at the teeth of the zombies. "I apologize for not warning you before I shot, Jack." She sincerely apologized.

She said softly, keeping her weapons armed in her hands but following her friend. and heading back inside is an idea I agree with." She ran inside of the Saloon, never letting go or sheathing the guns, as far as she was concerned they were her new hands. She also grabbed the same brand of botte of whiskey but a different bottle, chugging down half of it before keeping it close by as she shattered a part of a window and took her part of the station. She aimed her pistol barrel of her guns at approaching zombies. She got up to higher ground, hoping that no towns folk would be consumed by the carniverous, brain-eating zombies. She was a predator in her own right but she never killed anyone like the zombies.

Never. She wanted to be with Jack and make it out of this and not be torn apart by the brain consumers. She was stuck between two emotions, one was glad because she and JacK finally cracked the code but dread because she saw the dead rise oNce more.

The chaos erupted all at once around Josh, and he soon found himself firing along with the others. Knock Knock kicked hard against the sheriff's shoulder, and the heavy buckshot slammed hard into a zombie. With both barrels empty, he opened the breach to reload a pair of fresh shells. As he broke the shotgun open, he suddenly felt it ripped from his hands and onto the muddy ground. The stock was completely shattered.

Josh looked up at the now thinning horde of zombies and saw the man in black, with his nasty looking colt firmly in his hands. With his black hat tilted up, Josh got a good look at the man's rotted face. Even after years of decay and ruin, the sheriff still recognized it from nearly every dime novel and penny dreadful he read as a boy.

It was Clayton Rutherford.

If you believed the old tales, Clayton was a Confederate guerilla, killing pro-union folk from Kansas to Colorado. Some say he was killed not far from Longwater, shot in the back by his own men. Either way, he was staring down the sheriff, murder in his murky dead eyes.

Even over the din of gunfire, no bullet seemed to pierce the revenant. He spoke with a voice that everyone in town could hear clearly.

"This is but a taste of the hell that awaits you, folks. he said with a thick southern drawl. "The Devil is on his way, and in seven days, his train will pull into the station. After that, no angel in heaven will give you mercy. If you fight, you will die. If you run, you will die. If you submit... well, you'll still die, but it won't be as painful as the other two options.

Clayton brought his boney fingers to his lips and blew, bringing a stallion of black fire into view. You can pray, for all the good it will do you. Every night, you will be met with horrors worse than this. You only have yourselves to blame for this. With that, he tilted his hat forward and road off into the morning, leaving the rest of his undead to attack the towns folk.

After the ghost-man rode off, and Joshua came back to his senses. He drew his pistol and joined the rest of the townsfolk still fighting. The sheriff could see the old soldier, Colm, not far off. "Still want a job, old timer?"

Accurate shots from Achille's repeater rifle found home time and time again. Each shot fired dropped one of the approaching undead but there was many... too many. The townsfolk were disorganized, there were no proper barriers and it was becoming rapidly apparent that it was going to be every individual for themselves. As Achille took a quick moment to watch the revenant ride off after delivering an ominous warning...the vampire bounty hunter was starting to accept that the defense of Longwater was becoming a vain effort.

Realizing that escape may be the only option here, Achille guided his movements backwards towards the saloon which housed his temporarily hitched horse. The sounds of various cries and the smell of the body was overwhelming and while Achille had the luxury of having a pair of bandoliers strapped across his body for additional ammunition, there was surely far too many to defeat.

Click, click.

Empty.

Achille glanced downwards... he had used up all of his ammunition for his rifle. Throwing the strapped weapon back across his back, Achille leaned away just as one of the dead lunged at him. In one swift motion, Achille countered with a gloved right straight into his undead foe. The landed blow all but pulverized the undead individual's skull but the brief use of his supernatural strength sapped at him caused him to nearly stumble forwards. Achille struggled to regain proper footing, his breathing was growing heavy and his vision was starting to get shaky.

Achille took a glance upwards... it was mid-day and the sun was high in the sky. He was already weakened... he needed some sort of reprieve. The sounds of gunfire and bodies intensified from the saloon, catching Achille's attention further. Admittingly those inside could prove provide proper distraction and unintentionally watch his back. As more of the undead closed in on the saloon, Achille at last unleashed the pair of ornate colt revolvers. Taking careful steps backwards, Achille fired time and time again in alternating shots, each one felling a body. He was almost there, his horse while agitated from the noise was within reach, Achille could see him from the corner of his eye...

Mistake

His temporary lapse in vision was enough as another of the undead had closed the gap. It was only by his natural reflexes that he raised an arm to briefly hold the zombie that scratched and clawed at his dark leather duster. With a quick push off with his shoulder, Achille managed to create some distance before placing a kick that slammed into the creature's chest, following up with a well placed shot in between the eyes. As the smoke filled the air from the aftermath of his shot, Achille felt his body weaken more as he dropped to a knee... his breathing heavier, his movements slowing and there was still no end in sight.

As if from nowhere Kira rushed toward the also vampire mle whose name was Achille, mowing down the approachin undead with perfect shots toward their heads, chests and stomachs. "Here, come with me. I will help you." She said gently, rushing away from the crowd that they were trying to avoid. She wanted more than anything to change the outcome of the undead arising once more. She was eager to help the weakened man who was also of vampire bloodlines. She looked down at Achille, kneeling down and helping him to his feet, letting him lean against her.

She offered a bit of her blood if he needed some once they would reach safety, "Will a bit of my blood replenish your weakness" She asked, offering her wrist for him to use. She kneeled down before him, staying still as she was meant to do as she gazed up at the weary eyes of the also vampire. She was half human somewhere in her bloodline and that was something that was very useful for now.

"Hello again! I'm Christina," said the young woman as she took her firing spot. Jack kept his gun trained on the shambling dead, but his eyes fell upon his new associate.

"Why hello there, Christina," he said in a comical tone. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in a world of hell like this?" He squeezed the trigger as his thumb simultaneously pulled on his gun's hammer. With loud bang, his bullet took flight out of the window and passed the head of a living corpse that looked like its skin was hanging on by scarce tendons, before it finally found its home in the eyesocket of an old, dirty man who looked like he hadn't had a morsel of food in nearly a decade. He looked back to Christina. "It's Jack," he eventually offered with a wink.

Just then he heard a grunt from just outside the saloon. Jack craned his head around to look passed the swinging double-doors over to the mysterious man who was kneeling on the dirt road, nearly at the saloon's entrance. Before Jack could react, it appeared that Kira was jumping into action after him. From what he had seen so far, it looked like Kira could handle herself.

"You ever seen anything like this, Christina?" he asked before looking out the window once more and taking aim. "Gotta be some kind of sickness or something," he hypothesized. "I mean, this can't really be The Devil coming to town, can it?" Jack spotted his next target and let his hammer fall once more. The bullet shot out faster than its sound, cleaving the hot air in twain before landing... in an empty barrel about two feet off from the ghoul for which it was intended. Whoops.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a world of hell like this?"

Christina didn’t even have a chance to react to Jack’s question. Part of her was a bit flattered that he thought her pretty, although he looked a bit like a womanizer, so he probably gave compliments to every skirt-wearing person he came across. What was she doing here? What a silly question. She lived here. And up until a few hours ago, it was a perfectly normal place to live in.

As she dodged to reload her ‘borrowed’ rifle, the mysterious voice resonated through the town. Christina’s fingers trembled, the cartridges made a jingling sound as they escaped her hands and hit the ground which was already filled with empty shells. The Devil? This couldn’t really be the Devil himself, right? But who else could raise the dead from the graves? There was talk of resurrection in the scripture, but surely this was not what God had in mind. What more horrors could possibly be coming? And what the hell did he mean they only had themselves to blame? As far as she knew, Longwater was just like any other town. Some of the folks were goodhearted, some weren’t, but there was no great evil that would require such punishment.

She really needed to regain control of herself, or there was a great risk that the events of the next few days won’t matter to her. The dead were getting closer and closer, the line around the sheriff fell apart as men began to run towards the buildings to get more cover. The mysterious masked man from before headed towards the saloon but got knocked down before he could get to safety. The woman moved in to help him, seemingly faster than the eye could see. Christina thought she was going to help him inside, but for some reason, they stayed on the front porch.

“I’ve seen and read about a lot of sick people, but I don’t remember any mentions of the dead rising from their graves. Sure, sometimes people are mispronounced dead and wake up a few hours later, but that guy,” Christina finally managed to stuff the cartridges into the rifle and raise it to continue shooting, “that guy’s funeral was six months ago.” Her finger gently pulled the trigger, a shot came out… and the bullet flew right past the dead man, into the shop window on the opposite side of the street. Crap. She really needed to focus more, or she’ll end up killing someone who wasn’t dead before.

“What the hell are they still doing out there?” The two people outside were in imminent danger of being overrun by the horde. “Cover me!” she yelled at Jack, dropped the rifle, and rushed towards the door. She might have been a crappy shot, but she was a healer, and the man outside clearly needed some help.

“HEY!” she shouted at the woman. “Are you crazy? Help me get him inside!” She put the masked man’s arm around her shoulder and together they stumbled through the swing doors. “When she gets inside, block the door!” Some of the patrons were covering under the tables, at least this way they could make themselves useful somehow.

Carefully, she lowered the man to the ground and helped him sit against the wall. He looked very weak, but there were no visible injuries. “Sir. SIR!” She didn’t want to yell at him, but the saloon was filled with constant noise from the people firing at the dead. “I’m Christina Emerson, a local healer. Are you injured? Do you feel any pain?”

Lucia, one of the saloon girls, crawled towards them. “Need any help girl?”

“Get him some water. And maybe a bottle of something sharper too.” Men just needed a drink to get back on their feet sometimes. Christina never really understood it until now. Now she needed a drink herself.

The battle raged on for only a few moments more, as the modest horde of undead was shot to pieces. When there were only a few shambling corpses left, a few of the survivors quickly finished them off. Rutherford, amidst the chaos, had vanished.

Sheriff Joshua slid his revolver back in his holster as he looked through the corpses of those killed in the attack. He thought he had seen the mayor go down during the fight, but Josh needed to make sure. If he was truly dead, that would make Joshua the leading town official. Not that anyone else would want the job of managing a town that was one week from literally going to hell.

Once he made sure the mayor was gone, Joshua made his way to his office. A few of the townspeople were still milling about. Some attempted to clean up the corpses, while many other simply sat, guns held close.

This town was doomed, and everyone knew it. But even Joshua, as terrified as he was, knew that he would rather go down swinging than wait patiently for the devil to arrive. Hopefully, many in town felt the same way. After putting the word out that an emergency meeting would take place outside his office, he opened up his gun locker. Every weapon he ever confiscated or came across in his duties as a lawman would now be used to arm the the town.

Achille slowly came to his senses, he had felt himself move but he knew it wasn't by his own power. It was obvious he was disoriented... how shameful it was for Achille to look so pathetic despite being so physically imposing and well armed. For all his abilities and skills, he was just another individual now dependent on his rescuers. The thought would have nagged at him had his mind actually been able to focus in the first place. The vampire's mind was still all but a haze as as eyes finally began to gain some focus. His eyes moved from person to person to finally settling on that young woman from earlier. Christina, that was her name or at least that's what he believed he heard. As Christina attempted to speak to him, Achille could only blankly stare at her, her mouth was moving but no words were being heard. Despite her voice of concern, Achille's dark eyes drifted away from her own... drifting toward past her face and at her neck. Her blood was racing, he could see it and despite all the gunfire and sounds of death he could almost feel her heart as if it was in his hands... she was right there, oh so tempting...

Achille's eyes finally blinked as he looked around with hurried eyes as if he had just woken up from a dream. The man's revolvers were still attached to his hands and for a moment he raised them instinctually yet as he gathered himself mentally it was apparent he was safe. Despite his heavy breathing Achille at least offered a response.

"I'm fine...I'm fine." Achille stated as he looked around before breathing his stoic expression with a small chuckle at his own inconvenience. "I'm just... tired. I'll be alright, thank you." He was grateful, truly he was yet as his mind put the pieces together, Achille's eyes almost intensified as he recalled what happened just before he blanked. It was that other woman... Kira. Achille's initial calm gaze had turned into a glare... he knew something was off about her and it was obvious she could tell what he was and yet she almost revealed his secret out in the open. Part of him wanted to silence her almost immediately yet at the same time she did help save him which put him in awkward position in regards to his morals.

Back out east, such an open display was punishable by death. Achille silently hoped that nobody heard that conversation otherwise the ones who came to his defense would be quick to turn on him, he had no doubt. This was something he would have to address with her another time and away from the others. With the sounds of the battle starting to fade outside, Achille anticipated that they had somehow survived the initial event and that aggressive look in his eye faded. With a roof over his head and being away from direct sunlight, Achille could somewhat feel his diminished strength returning though it was best not to push it. With measured movements, Achille hoisted himself up as he turned to thank Christina once more.

"I'll pass on that drink but I am grateful for your help. I'd go check on the others, they are probably in worst shape than I am."