“I get it,” Dickleburg yelled, “we’ve been assholes. It was wrong of us to come in and run roughshod over the town. Let’s put this all behind us and end everything peacefully.”
J Robert Oppenheimer stood motionless as he held up his laser pistol. His black duster was swaying in the wind. I could see his hand shaking as he lowered his finger towards the trigger. I approached him quietly then spoke in a low, calm voice. “Perhaps Dickleburg’s right,” I said, “we may have more advanced weapons than them, but they severely outnumbered us. There’s no way this ends with all of us alive.”
“Come on Bob,” Dickleburg shouted, “let’s be smart about this.”
Beads of sweat were pouring down Oppenheimer’s face. I leaned towards him again. “Do we really want to unleash this kind of bloodbath?” I asked him.
“Just let my family go,” the sheriff finally uttered, his voice cracking.
“First we need you to agree to the terms,” Dickleburg replied.
“Let them go, and we’ll talk.”
Dickleburg smiled and motioned over to his men. The two gunmen released Maybelline and Malachi. As they started running towards us, I saw another gunman peep out from around the corner. As he lowered his shotgun, I took out the .357 and hit the ground. “Everybody down!” I yelled.
One shot. One shot was all it took to take out the gunman. Dickleburg ducked for cover as he dodged laser shots from Oppenheimer. The bright blue beams hit the two gunmen standing behind him, vaporizing them instantly.
All hell broke loose in the town square. Everyone looked for cover.
Maybelline and Malachi ran into the whore house while bullets and lasers flew around them. Windows were smashed, dust was kicked up from scrambling boots and horses, but the four of us maintained our line.
“Aaaahahhahha!” screamed Rockwell as he tossed a space grenade. The device bounced towards four of Dickleburg’s gunmen. When it detonated, a plasma bubble formed around them which initially caused confusion. However, heat rapidly increased within the bubble and their skin began melting off. The screams were unbearable.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I yelled to Rockwell.
“I didn’t know it would do that,” he replied.
Meanwhile, Mr. Ree was on the roof of the whore house, picking off men with his laser Winchester. Heads were popping like watermelons all around us. Yet no matter what we did, more gunmen kept pouring into the town square.
Finally, we were all cornered in the whore house. “Damn, I’m out of space ammo,” Oppenheimer said. “My ammunition is spent as well,” Mr. Ree chimed in.
“I’ve still got five shots,” I stated.
“Five shots?” Oppenheimer asked, “you started off with six! You mean to tell me that in all this carnage you only killed ONE guy?”
“Maybe two,” I replied, “I hit a man with a shuriken but I don’t think he died.”
“Go to the roof,” Mr. Ree ordered, “with all that ammo and your lethal accuracy, you should be able to hold them off.”
I charged up the stairs to the top of the whore house. As I was about to aim at the gaggle of gunmen below, I heard a shout. “PROTECT THE WHORE HOUSE!” the man screamed. It was Fred Ward. He rolled out the Gatling gun and unleashed fury on the poor, unsuspecting bastards.
At least 50 gunmen were senselessly mowed down on the street, blood popping out of the bodies with each round. I barfed after I surveyed the massacre below; every man was shot to an unrecognizable pulp. “Thanks Fred,” I shouted, “I completely forgot about you!”
“No problem man! Anytime!”
I walked back downstairs where everyone was gathered around the bar. “Alright, Oppenheimer,” I said, “they’re all dead. Time to send me and Mr. Ree back to our timeline.”
Oppenheimer slammed the whiskey bottle on the bar and threw down his hat. “Fuck me right in my ass!” he yelled.
“Pardon?”
“I said I’d never be responsible for this many deaths again,” he lamented, “why me? What did I do to warrant this kind fate?”
“I dunno. The gods must hate you for harnessing their power by inventing nuclear weapons probably. Oh well. So about us going back to our timeline…”
Right then, Mr. Ree rushed in the door trying to catch his breath. “Bad news,” he said, “Dickleburg is not among the dead!”
TO BE CONTINUED…
The Internet Ruined Everything 