Deadlands - Classic - Adventure - Dime Novel 08 - Adios.A.Mi.Go (CoC).pdf

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amigo
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™
Deadlands ™ : The Weird West ™ Dime Novel #8
Adios, A-Mi-Go!
Fiction by: John Wick
Adventure by: John Wick & Hal Mangold
Editing & Layout: Hal Mangold & Matt Forbeck
Cover Art &Logo: Ron Spencer
Interior Art: Paul Daly Cover Design: Hal Mangold
Maps: Jeff Lahren & Hal Mangold
Special Thanks to: Barry Doyle, Shane, Michelle & Caden Hensley,
John & Christy Hopler, Ashe Marler, Eric Rowe, Charles Ryan, Dave Seay,
Kevin Sharpe, Greg Stafford, Matt Tice, Lynn Willis, Maureen Yates,
John Zinser, everyone at Chaosium, and—of course—H.P. Lovecraft.
Deadlands created by Shane Lacy Hensley.
Call of Cthulhu created by Sandy Petersen & Lynn Willis.
™
®
Pinnacle Entertainment Group, Inc.
P.O. Box 10908 Blacksburg, VA 24062–0908
WWW.PEGINC.COM
Deadlands, The Weird West, Dime Novel, the Deadlands: The Weird West logo and sublogo, and the
Pinnacle logo are all Trademarks of Pinnacle Entertainment Group, Inc. Call of Cthulhu™ is
Chaosium’s trademarked game of horror and wonder, and is used with their kind permission.
© 2001 Pinnacle Entertainment Group, Inc., and Chaosium, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
™
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Adios, A-Mi-Go!
Time and space are wrong here.
They twist and topple each other like mad lovers.
Sometimes, what you see is what has been, and what you
hear is what will be.
Pay attention. We’re going backward.
Chapter One
It’s the sensation of spinning, of weightlessness, of sick
vertigo that just won’t go away. Just on the edge of waking and
sleep, that’s where he is right now. He can feel something tickling
his temple, just above his right eye. Sometimes, he remembers
that it must be blood, but then the memory hides, and he’s
floating again. Other times, he can hear someone screaming his
name. The high-pitched whine of bullets pierces the haze, but
not enough, and he slips back into the spinning spiral.
He feels his hand twitch as his fingers kick up dust.
Something kicks him. His eyes peel open, and he sees the floor
and feet. He hears the voice again and the thunder of guns
spitting lead and fire. Then, the haze grabs him with her sweet
hands. I won’t let you go, she promises. I’ll never let you go…
Dreams flood into his mind, although they may be memories.
He opens the door and lets them in. They rush into the vacuum
in his head, and he can feel his lips slide into a smile. The warm
blanket of dreaming covers him, and he nuzzles in.
A light—the light. The sun, bright and blazing, floods his
vision. He reaches out to touch it, and it burns…
* * *
Page 4
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Adios, A-Mi-Go!
…And it burns.
He tipped his hat lower over his eyes, cursing under his breath.
The man at his side turned slightly. “What’s all that mess
about?” he asked.
He dared a look up at the Yankee and bit back the temptation
to lick his lips. “I never heard anyone mention anything about
Death Valley, Mr. Lynch,” he said.
Ronan chuckled, a sound more menacing than comforting.
“Trust me, Reg, this ain’t Death Valley. You’d know it if it was.”
Reg shrugged. It was always amazing to hear the contrast in
their accents. “In all my years serving Her Majesty, I cannot
remember a place more miserable than this.”
“You Europeans got a real problem with weather, I noticed.”
Ronan grumbled, adjusting the shotgun he had slung over his
shoulder.
Reg emptied his third canteen and shook his head. “Hardly.”
“Well, you better make sure you don’t down all that water. We
still got three days left to go.”
“Miserable luck, that was,” Reg muttered. Ronan dropped his
gaze on the man, and Reg suddenly felt a cold chill race down
his spine. “Stop that!” he barked. “It’s not enough I have to deal
with this intolerable desert, but your ‘soulless stares’ as well.”
Ronan turned away. “Suit yourself.”
Reg paused for a moment, then said, “Terribly sorry, old man.
It’s just that—well, I’ve been a bit edgy since that little ruckus in
Tucson.”
Ronan nodded. “Back luck,” he whispered.
“No, it was more than that. There was something—something
there. Something big. I’ve never seen a hex pull that kind of
power before.”
“I have,” Ronan said, his fingers instinctively touching the
handle of his pistol.
Reg didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t understand why it would
come out this direction. Why not make its way Back East?”
“Makes perfect sense. Too much law and order Back East.
Them critters like it out here on the frontier, where folks ain’t
got nothing to…” he paused, suddenly sitting up in the saddle
“…fall back on.”
Reg looked at Ronan. “Do you see something?”
Ronan dug into his saddle back and pulled out a spyglass.
“Maybe,” he said. “But it don’t make any sense.”
A moment passed. Dust swirled at their horses’ feet. Reg
licked his lips, then cursed himself for forgetting. Ronan put the
glass on his lap. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered.
“What is it?”
Ronan shook his head. “Must be a minin’ town,” he said,
putting away his spyglass and strapping up his saddlebag. “But I
don’t recall any mines ’round here.”
Page 5

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