Lonely Road to Utopia

Clint felt the wind whip at his poncho and try and blow off his hat. He remembered how he got the items. It was about a year and a half after the end, he was somewhere in Wyoming, had been looking for work to feed himself. Sure he could hunt, but ammo was sparse and it was best not to waste it on small game for a night of food.

In northern Wyoming he found a group of gunslingers that were hired by the C.N.B government to try and bring law to the area. He sighed up and rode with the Regulators. They gave him ammo, food, a place to sleep.

The leader, Sheriff Johnny "Bull-Flinch" Finch, was a good man. Unless he saw a crime or had evidence he never acted, why endanger his men on a whim? They say he was a rancher before the end, mostly cattle and live stock. One day a ranch hand pissed off a bull and it was raising hell.

He walked out, the earth 'neath his feet burning from his anger. Walked right out, grabbed the bull by the horns, and as soon as it looked into his eyes it acted like a spanked puppy. Ran off tail between it's legs, afraid of the burly man who'd grabbed the bull by it's horns. 'Course that was just the rumor, he never told anyone why he was "Bull-Flinch".

On one of their last runs they were taking out a group of bandits that had been raising hell in the area. Clint was clipped by a bullet and went down for a second. Johnny picked him up, planted his .45 back in his hand and said. "The bounty on these sum bitches is a year of food, ammo, and a good pony for each of us. Unless you wanna starve for your days stop being a bitch."

Clint nodded and fought like he never had before, they became a duo like no one had heard of. Rounds upon rounds were used, more blood than could fit in a swimming pool was spilt, more swears than a sailor were said.

In the end, when they began to spread gasoline through the building John called him over. "Found this, figure a cowboy named Clint could use one." He said handing him the poncho. Clint smiled and took the over garment.

He put it on and threw the flap over his shoulder. "Thanks partner." He said before going back to his business.

Then the day he left the Regulators. One last mission before pay was distributed. Apparently a bunch of F.U.S soldiers were in the area, and the C.N.B was to lazy to dispatch troops to deal with them.

The rode in guns blazing, shooting anything that moved for a gun. At one point Johnny jumped off his horse and went on foot into the camp. Clint looked back to see a soldier behind him, shot Johnny just above his heart. Clint jumped off his horse, unloading his clip into the soldier.

Clint shuffled over to a tent and leaned against it. "Looks like this is the end o' me." Clint couldn't believe it. First his parents in Missouri, finding what other family he had dead in Arizona, now one of his best friends die before his eyes.

"Damnit Johnny, you can't die! Not like this!" He screamed.

Johnny broke an uneasy smile. "Hey, least I'm going out like a man." He put his packer hat on Clint's head. "See ya cowboy, someday, somewhere." He slowly closed his eyes and relaxed his body; drifting off into the eternal rest of sleep. A rest he damn well deserved.

His vision went red and his fist shook, he stood and clutched his .45. "Ya sum-bitches! I'll kill the damn lot of ya!" He screamed before running full force at the last soldiers. Like a the hand of god he went at them, determined to kill the men responsible for his friends death.

The next day they all awoke in the base; only to find Clint gone. Above his bunk was a mural of Johnny holding his smoking revolver with the words 'Remember to grab the bull by the horns, when he sees the Regulator stare in your eyes he'll do a Bull-Flinch.'

Clint had left in the night, quiet as the lonely prairie. He never collected his pay, what's the point of something good if your friends ain't there to celebrate it with you. Sure the other regulators were good guys; he just wasn't exactly friendly with them.

He hit the road after that, never stayed in a place more than a day at most. After six moths he ended up at the camp with the scavengers.

The regulators were a lot like them scavengers; besides the fact Regulators wouldn't just kill ya and steal your things if they could find them. They both cherished what they had and who they still had left.

He felt the warm, dry, wind of the southwest blow over him. It went through any gaps in cloth and skin, fabric and fabric. Rubbed him the wrong way. Kinda like the guy from California.

He had been on the road a good year, hiking from his home in Missouri to see if he still had family alive in Arizona. He was 14 still, only 9 months on the road. He had to frequently stop and rest because of how inexperienced he was at walking these distances.

Arriving at their home in Western Arizona he knocked on the door, nothing. Another knock and nothing. Mustering all the strength he had in his lower body he kicked the door, it budged slightly.Another kick, one more inch to go. Boom!Creek!

He broke the wood from behind the lock just barely, allowing the door to slowly open. He entered to a putrid smell. Lying on the floor in puddles of dark black blood, flies swarming them, and god knows what else, was his family. All of them.

His family was pretty religious, always at church or praying. When all this started they probably gathered here to pray for salvation.  Then some crazy son of a bitch broke in and killed them, stole any valuables, etc.

Recoiling out the door he fell over and started vomiting, between the sight, smell, and realization of the fact he was truly alone now it was sickening. Crawling over he sat against the wall and started weeping.

Sure he was never close with them, but they were family damn it! His family, his last family, the only thing he ha- would have had left.

After a while he stood up and wiped the tears from his eyes. You're parents wouldn't want you acting like this! The words of his friend rung in his ears. That hit home, the thought that subconsciously made it's self present in his head pushed him over board.

He pulled the pistol from his bag and pressed it firmly against his temple. Just as he was about to pull the trigger a man called out. "Hey fella!"

Opening his eyes he saw a man running up the road toward him. "Hey man! You find anything good in there?" The man tried going in the house, to be stopped by Clint.

"Stay the fuck out." Was all he said.

The man gave him a funny look before smiling. "Oh I see, you found some awesome loot and are trying to keep it for yourself! Well I think I'll go see myself! Maybe I can use some of it for that ferry in California."

Clint stopped him again. "Ferry to where?"

The guy scoffed. "Well to Hawaii! They got it made out there. The end was like nothing to them. Now if you excuse me, I have a house to plunder." He walked by Clint and tried entering the house again.

This guy was already on his nerves, and he'd be damned if he was gonna let someone try and plunder his family home. Turning he pulled up the pistol and shot the man through the head, just as he started to walk through the door. Walking toward the garage he found the door open.

Entering he saw his prize, the gas canister was there still. Grabbing it he popped the cap and started walking circles around the house, pouring the gas on the wooden sides of the home. He grabbed the dead mans bag and started looking for something to light the fuel with.

He found a box of usable ammo and some matches. Pocketing the ammo he struck a match and threw it at the home, Instantly it was engulfed in flames. He walked away from the house; his family's tomb.

As he walked away he felt cold, despite the heat of the fire he still felt. Cold in his heart and cold in his thoughts. He was completely alone; all of his family was dead.

It felt kinda like floating in space. He seemed weightless, all the weight of family responsibility and sense of protection to someone was gone. Though no matter how he looked at it, no matter how many people were left in the world, in the universe; he had no one. No friends, no family, nothing. Like floating alone in space.

Maybe that was a feeling he was meant to feel. Maybe that's why this all happened. So that people would learn not to take things for granite. He always did take things for granite, yet he always cherished family and friends.

If his least favorite family member called him at 3 A.M he'd probably just sit and talk with them; get whatever was on their chest out of the way.

An event like this was a biblical, maybe it was of divine intention. God brought this down to punish sinners; his rapture was murder, his holy light shimmering blood. Was God really this cruel?