CHAPTER 7

The following morning, the pages on the calendar seemed to have been restored to the early years of the twentieth century at and near the Silver Creek mining camp. The ghost town saw more life than it had for 120 years; not since the last nugget of high-grade ore had been picked out of the rock inside the mine galleries had so many people milled about on the dirt trail that ran between the derelict buildings.

The remaining wooden structures, the mine galleries and the Silver Creek area in itself were recognized as Federal Landmarks so the movie company couldn't re-dress the facades with new paint or new logos - instead, the construction crew built, painted and aged simple, single-layer plywood sets that were put so close to the existing buildings that the cameras wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

The A-camera had been attached to an articulated crane that would be used to take the sweeping establishing shots of the colorful town and the extras who would fill the streets. Camera tracks had already been laid out on the parts of the dirt trails that would be outside the crane's field of view, so once the A-camera had been mounted on the ground-based dolly, it could track and pan to get good coverage of the action at eye-level.

The crew working with the B-camera used the same GyroCam the second-unit had used for the exterior location scenes down south at Goldsboro - the hand-held camera would be responsible for the close-ups of the actors to give everything a grittier feel.

The movie's first-unit director had arrived from Los Angeles by helicopter to make it to the middle-of-nowhere location in good time. On the cusp of entering his seventh decade, Stephen Markham was a tall, skinny, somber-looking man whose former acting career had seen him typecast as nuclear scientists, terminal-ward doctors, humorless judges or funeral parlor owners.

Markham spent most of his pre-shooting time in the tent where all the technical equipment had been set up so he could get up to speed on all the little details - his absence from the battlefield known as the film set left the production manager Alison Gardner and her trusty electronic bullhorn in charge.

Beyond the line of sight of the cameras, a large cluster of white trailers had been brought into the area by heavy-duty, six-wheel-drive trucks. The wardrobe and makeup units as well as the people working there had been expanded three-fold to deal with the large number of extras hired for the day's shoot.

The movie's headlining stars, the twenty-something heartthrob Simon DeLane and the older, more experienced and far more cynical Roger Kennedy, each had an exquisite RV at their disposal staffed by several personal assistants, assistants to the assistants and - at the bottom of the chain of command - gofers who were never allowed to sit still for more than five seconds at a time.

Private wardrobe and makeup trailers had been wheeled over so the stars didn't have to mingle with the commoners when preparing for their scenes. DeLane had brought his own chef so he could continue his special bronze-age diet, and Kennedy had brought his own bottles of potent entertainment so he could carry on feeding the insatiable devil within him.

Although the hands of time had only just made it around to seven-thirty-three, the gathering of Goldsboro residents near, at and in the main wardrobe trailer kept the spirits high and the hassle low. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood for the costume fittings, and although there were a few yawns due to the early hour, nobody had let out their inner grouch yet.

Blackie and Goldie were together again after the day and night they had spent away from each other - they celebrated the reunion by never being more than two feet apart as they waited outside the wardrobe trailer. For once, Goldie was in an upbeat mood about the upcoming events and let out several happy yaps whenever a stagehand or costumed extra went past.

Blackie suffered from a severe case of grumpiness as she had to wear a leash that had been tied to the flight of stairs that went up to the wardrobe trailer. The black German Shepherd let out growled barks at frequent intervals that meant 'I hate this darn thing!  There's so much to explore here and they have me tethered to a darn staircase!  I hate it!'

Goldie was far more used to being on a leash and tried to calm her companion down with a little side-on-side rubbing; it helped, but only for short amounts of time.

---

Inside the wardrobe trailer, Wynne had already completed her costume fitting. Everything had been ready for her when she arrived since she would wear more or less the same outfit - or at least an identical one - that she had worn for the evening location work up north in Goldsboro.

The main difference was that it had been treated to look as if she had trekked fifteen miles through the harsh desert to get back to town to warn the other residents of the undead vampyre ghouls: several pockets had been torn off her brown denim jacket, and the left sleeves of not only the jacket but the dark-blue, double-breasted shirt had been reduced to mere threads just below the elbow. The pristine sheepskin gloves she had worn the night before had been replaced by a pair that had been scuffed, scorched and torn. The knees of her jeans were filthied and bloody, and the denim across her left knee had a jagged hole in it.

"Holeh shittt!" Wynne said as she glanced at herself in a full-sized mirror and saw how the reflected image showed the sorry state of her costume in colorful detail. "I sure as stink-on-shoot hope y'all ain't nevah gonn' be thinkin' 'bout runnin' no Laundromat or nuttin'… 'cos, dang!  Look at them clothes!  They be ruined!"

Save for Brenda Travers whose outfit still needed a tuck here and a few safety pins there, the members of the Goldsboro Gang all came out of various dressing rooms to show off the costumes they had chosen, or in some cases had been chosen for them - among the latter group were Kenny Tobin who was to play a helper at the livery stables and the gangly Ritchie Lee whose rubish looks made him perfect for the role of the postmaster's apprentice.

Roscoe Finch and Geoffrey Wilburr, jr. had both been dressed up as regular cowboys while Diego Benitez looked a million in his black-and-red caballero fatigues. Though the makeup trailer would be the next stop for all of them, Diego had decided to get a head start - in a literal sense - by pouring an entire tube of gel into his hair to make it shiny and stand out in any crowd. In a similar fashion, his mustache had been trimmed and waxed so it would appear neat and tidy unlike the usual dense shrubbery that grew under his nose.

The ladies' section at the far end of the trailer was protected by a curtain so nobody would get the idea of taking a peek out of turn. To add an extra line of defense against possible peepers, Wynne had found a foldable lawn chair that she sat on while she waited for Brenda to come out of the dressing room.

While the guys all kept a running commentary on each other's looks at the other end of the wardrobe trailer, The Last Original Cowpoke sat cool, calm and collected with her long legs crossed at the ankles looking every bit the experienced gunslinger she portrayed.

Unlike the day before where she'd had a prop Winchester rifle as well, she had only been given a dummy Colt Peacemaker that had been prepared and placed in her gun belt by the weapons master. Half of the bullets that had been in her belt had been taken out to create the illusion that she had been taking potshots at the vampyre ghoul - or perhaps imaginary foes - while she made her escape.

The swinging door to the dressing room was soon opened to reveal Brenda in a form-fitting, jade-green dress that featured white highlights at the cuffs, the lower hem and the upper portion of the chest. A medium-width skirt, puff-cuffs and the high neck that was graced by a jade brooch on a gold chain all came together to paint a formidable picture of class, style and elegance. Heeled ankle boots, a tasseled umbrella, dainty gloves and a trés chic Paris hat in the same shade as the dress completed the ensemble.

"Merceh Sakes, Brendah!" Wynne said and slapped her palms onto her thighs. "Whah, ya sure ain't be lookin' lack no school marm I evah done clapped eyes on… Lawrdie!  If somebodda lookin' lack y'all had taught me mah A-B-Cs an' one-two-threes, I woudden ha' been such a rebel in schoo'!"

"Thanks, Wynne!" Brenda said and performed a quick turn to make the skirt billow out. "No, this is a different character. I'm the mayor's wife. The school marm costume was so dull. A gray, featureless thing with boring glasses and flat shoes… but then I thought, hey, this will be the only movie I'll ever make. Why not get dolled up for a change?"

"Yuh!  I can deffa-nete-leh see wotcha mean, there… Lawrdie, that ol' mayah sure is one luckeh fella. Ya know who be gonn' playin' that charactah?"

"No. I don't think it'll make much of a difference. I'm just a background person… unlike someone I know. Huh?  Huh?" Brenda said while winking several times.

Wynne let out an embarrassed chuckle. "If y'all be tawkin' 'bout me, I still ain't got no clue howdahell them folks got da no-shun o' givin' me lih-nes or nuttin'. None."

Down the far end of the wardrobe trailer, one of the harassed, headset-wearing assistants entered holding a few pieces of paper. When she couldn't find the person she was looking for, she hurried ahead until she reached the ladies' section. "Miss Donohue?  Miss Donohue?" she said as she peeked past the curtain.

"A-hep!  Wynne Donnah-hew be mah nah-me!" Wynne said and thrust her arm in the air.

The assistant came into the ladies' section and drew the curtain to a close behind her. "Miss Donohue, here's a revised script," she said as she handed over the papers.

Wynne furrowed her brow as she glanced at the paragraphs of text that had been formatted in the typical indented style. "Whaddahell?  Ah alreddeh got-"

"The director has reviewed the dailies from yesterday's second-unit shoot. He was so pleased with your performance and looks that you've been given three additional lines of dialogue-"

"Say whut?!"

"And there'll be close-ups as well."

"Close-"

Before Wynne could get too far, the assistant listened to a call that came over her headset - she keyed a mic to respond: "I'll tell her right away. Miss Donohue, you're needed in the makeup trailer ASAP. After that, the SC needs to speak with you. All right?"

"Naw, it ain't awright!  Whodahell is da SC?"

"The stunt coordinator. Mr. Levine. I need to run, Miss Donohue," the assistant said and hurried out of the wardrobe trailer before Wynne could as much as open her mouth to complain.

"The dang-blasted stunt coordinatah?!" Wynne cried and fell back against the chair's backrest. She stared into space for a moment before her face scrunched up into a mask of worry - and even an uncharacteristic touch of fear. "Lawwwwr-die… aw… aw… aw, naw… they woudden… aw, shoot…"

The door to the dressing room swung open to reveal a half-dressed Brenda - the jade-green dress was open at the back to add a few more safety pins so it would sit just right across her waist and bosom. "What's wrong, Wynne?  Bad news?"

"Naw, but… dang… the stunt coordinatah… Lawrdie… it's a Westurhn…"

"Well, yes. So?"

"Them Westurhns got hosses. Plentah o' hosses. Big hosses. Realleh big hosses. Lack gigantoh hosses!  An'… an'…"

Brenda nodded as the truth dawned on her. "Oh, that's right… you have a little problem with large animals."

"Yuh. 'Cept it ain't no li'l problem. It be a ha-uge problem," Wynne said in a mumble. "Aw-hell, jus' when Ah thunk this wus fuh-n an' all, somebodda hadda mule-kick me in da gut. Shoot. Aw, Ah bettah moseh on ovah ta that there makeup trailah… them folks might as well slap some white paint in mah face 'cos it sure gonn' end up that way, anyhows."

"Well… break a leg!" Brenda said with a smile.

"Whah, thank ya, Brendah. I sure be tryin' ta avoid that, yes Ma'am…" Wynne said as she shuffled out of the wardrobe trailer holding the pages with the additional dialogue she had been given.

-*-*-*-

Twenty minutes later.

Brittney, the makeup artist, had transformed Wynne's hair and face into a filthy mess that reflected the fact her character had been trekking through the desert on foot for hours on end. The updated costume she wore carried the worst damage on the left-hand side, so her lower lip now sported a nasty-looking split that had been created with a grease pencil and some shadowing.

Deep-purple bruises had been added to her chin and left cheekbone while a bloody abrasion on the left side of her forehead above her eye looked painful and even a little infected. Her left hand and arm up to the elbow were covered in scratches and filth, and her left pinkie and ring finger were given a dusting of black powder to suggest they had been sprained or perhaps even fractured - it was all meant to illustrate she had taken several bad tumbles into unsighted ravines and the like at some point during her breathless escape.

The busy stunt coordinator had yet to show up, but Wynne couldn't stay in the makeup trailer as all the other actors and extras needed to be beautified - or the opposite - as well.

Thus, she made herself comfortable on the metal staircase. She had brought Blackie and Goldie with her from the wardrobe trailer to provide a little company, and the dogs were resting near her dusty, scuffed boots. The German Shepherd had been ecstatic until she realized she would need to be tethered to another staircase. At present, she was flat on her stomach while resting her eyes and displaying a world-class doggy-pout.

Wynne looked up as the sound of striding footsteps reached her ears. Instead of the long-lost stunt coordinator, the person approaching her was the familiar compact shape of Sheriff Mandy Jalinski in full uniform. Although the black-and-dark-gray color combination was wrong for the era the horror Western was set in, it only required a squint to see her as a star packin', six-gun-carryin', tuff-talkin' town Marshal who was always ready to tar and feather the villains of the piece.

"Howdy, darlin'!" Wynne said and got up from the staircase.

Down on the ground, Blackie cracked open an eyelid to see what went on - when she spotted her other owner, she jumped up and let out a Woof! that was soon accompanied by several happy yaps by Goldie.

"Good morning, hon," Mandy said with a smile. A dark frown soon fell over her face as she took in Wynne's battered look. "I don't like that. I don't like that at all."

"Whut?" Wynne said and tried to cross her eyes to look at her makeup. "That there Brittneh gal be an expuhrt with them tools o' hers so I be perdeh dang sure she didden mess nuttin' up-"

Mandy continued to frown at the sight of Wynne's made-up face. "It's not that. It's the bloodied look in general. I saw it far too often in real life back when I walked the endless beats of Santo Domingo's inner-city precincts. This really happened to women every single stinking Friday and Saturday night."

Nodding, Wynne looked at the fake red scratches on her hand and forearm. "Yuh… I sure be gettin' that pah-rt. This he' gunk washes off… theirs didden. I sapose that be them there mooh-vies in a nutshell… ain't nuttin' he' is real. At the end o' the day, we can all grab a beah an' go hoah-me."

"Yes. I don't want to ruin your moment, so let's change the subject," Mandy said and offered Wynne a smile. "I hadn't expected it to be so busy here. Makes my job even harder."  While she spoke, she made a slow turn to glance at the myriad of crew members, workers and extras who were milling about.

"Yuh, there be plentah o' folks he', that sure ain't no lie. All y'all gonn' be that there securiteh dee-tail taday, yuh?  For them impahrtant stars ovah in their big-ass trailahs, too?"

"Yes to the first part, no to the second. The stars have brought their own personal assistants."

"Okeh… figgahs!"

"Rodolfo and Beatrice are on constant patrol. They're around here somewhere," Mandy said and made a sweeping gesture at the film compound. "We were able to borrow Don Woodward from Jarrod City for the day so that helped a little as well."

"So ol' Mista Sixteh-Cigs be back hoah-me handlin' that there phoah-ne, huh?" Wynne said and nudged Mandy with her elbow.

"No, Bessie Robinson's at the watch desk. I ordered Barry to walk the entire beat at least once every ninety minutes until we return. We need to keep vigilant." A rare, wicked gleam entered Mandy's greenish eyes. Leaning in toward Wynne, she lowered her voice to say: "And I asked Mr. Lafferty to keep track of him so I don't have to rely on Barry's own time sheets and reports."

"Lawwwwwwwr-die!  I wudden bet ag'inst ol' Barreh takin' that long jus' ta walk from one end o' Goldsborah ta the othah!  An' then he can turn 'round an' start ovah!  Mebbe y'all gonn' have a posi-shun open aftah taday, huh?

"We should be so lucky," Mandy said and rolled her eyes. "Barry's connected. His aunt Mildred is a close friend of Mary-Lou Skinner. And the Senior Councilwoman is the one who approves all hiring and firing among the branches of public service here in MacLean County."

"Owch… yuh, I knew it hadda be som'tin lack that… I 'member when ol' Barreh first done showed up… even nasteh ol' Artie Rains didden know whaddahell ta do with'im. He nevah wus no different so he ain't nevah gonn' be no different, neithah."

Though the location scenes at Silver Creek were to be filmed by the movie's first-unit crew, the set and location manager Alison Gardner - and her indispensable electronic bullhorn - was still the movie's supreme field commander. Her disembodied voice echoed across the film set as she barked an order to the construction crews to finish up. Once the burly men had gathered their tools and had gone out of frame, Alison ordered all the costumed extras to line up near the camera tent for a briefing.

"Awwww-shoot!  I still need-a tawk ta that there dang-blasted stunt coordinatah!" Wynne said and thumped a fist against her filthy jeans.

"Oh?  About what?"

"I ain't got no clue, darlin'!  Some assistant or 'nothah done tole me I hadda tawk ta the fella but he ain't nevah done showed up. Aw, Snakes Alive, I bettah moseh on ovah ta the camera tent an' all ta heah what that there oh-so-nih-ce ladeh hafta say… she don't sound too happeh this morn'. Catch ya latah, Sheriff Mandeh!" Wynne said and pulled her partner in for a brief semi-hug that wouldn't upset her own costume or transfer any stage makeup to the black uniform.

-*-*-*-

The movie's twenty-eight extras - twenty-five adults and three children who were supervised by a professional leisure-time teacher working for Padded Cell Productions and Distant Horizons Film Group - soon filed into the open area in front of the camera tent.

A heaving mass of people wearing colorful Western costumes, big hats, small hats or no hats at all formed up in an irregular cluster to hear the gospel as told by Alison Gardner whose bullhorn never left her mouth save for the moments where she chewed out some poor individual face to face. Entering the scene from the right, she stepped up on an overturned soap box to be able to cover the entire field of extras with a single, fiery glare.

"Listen up!" she barked into the electronic contraption. "This isn't rocket science, people!  If any of you think about acting-" - she made air quotes with her free hand - "or mugging for the camera, you will be removed from the roster!  Spread out organically and move naturally. Cowboys with cowboys. Townspeople with townspeople. No mingling!  Do you understand?"

Almost as if on cue, the extras shuffled around so they would stand closer to those of their own ilk.

Alison kept a close eye on the state of affairs before she continued: "Once you've gone through the scene, stay out of sight. Do not come back into frame until the director has called cut. The only exception is for those of you who are supposed to move those crates there-" - she pointed at a pile of fake, wooden crates in front of one of Silver Creek's former saloons - "inside the building. The establishing shot isn't long enough for you to go through the pile, but if you do, stay out of sight once you've taken the last crate. All right. If any of you don't know what to do or where to be, put a hand up and I'll tell you."

Wynne looked at her friends from Goldsboro who had spread out among the extras. Three hands were thrust aloft, one of which belonged to Diego Benitez whose black-and-red caballero costume made him a beacon of style compared to the drab colors of those nearest him.

"Yes?  You there," Alison said and pointed at Diego.

" 'Scuse me, Ma'am, but am I a cowboy or one of the townspeople?"

Alison let out a "Hmmm," as she checked through a wad of papers. "The caballero is a gentleman so you're with the townspeople."

Diego had a broad grin on his bronzed face as he shuffled through the group of scruffy-looking extras to get over to the important people. A moment later, he lined up next to the town's pastor, the blacksmith, the drugstore owner, the woman who had inherited Brenda's school marm character, Brenda herself and the elderly, white-bearded fellow - a retired professional stage actor from West Gainsboro, Nevada - who portrayed the mayor.

While Alison Gardner spoke to the other two extras who had unanswered questions, Wynne strolled over to where Diego had ended up. "Pilgrim," she said in a low, menacing voice, "if y'all be ol' enuff ta stand, y'all be ol' enuff ta fall. This he' town ain't big enuff fer both offus. Catch mah drift?"

Brenda did a comedic gasp while Diego assumed a grim, determined expression. "You better watch yourself, outlaw. I'll spank ya with my rubber blade if ya don't!" As he spoke, he drew a ten-inch hunting knife from a sheath on his belt. Flicking his wrist, he made the entire prop wiggle-waggle like a gardening hose.

Grinning, Wynne put up her hands in defeat and backed away from the lethal weapon - unfortunately, Alison misread her signals and let out a: "You with the torn jacket. What's your question?"

It took Wynne a couple of seconds and a glance over her shoulder to understand she had been spoken to by the short-tempered production manager. "Haw, I ain't realleh got nuttin' ta ask 'cept mebbe where dat dere stunt coordinatah be at?  I wus told he wus gonn' tawk ta me but he ain't been 'round yet or nuttin'."

Alison let out a dramatic sigh; removing her finger from the bullhorn's trigger for the first time in several days, she leaned closer to Wynne. "Lady, save that fake accent for your dialogue scenes, okay?  Or better yet, just can it. Frankly, it's a PITA to listen to and it doesn't fool anyone."

"Whaddinda-wohhhhhhh-rld?  Whydahell all y'all mooh-vie folks be bitchin' 'bout mah way o' speakin'?!  This he' is a gen-ooo-ih-ne Shallow Pond, Texas diah-lect!  Sure is!  Ain't nuttin' Ah can do 'bout it an' there ain't nuttin' Ah wanna do 'bout it, neithah!"

Alison just shook her head and stepped off her soap box. As she moved through the main group of extras, she let out a muttered "Jeez, you method people… can't work with you, can't throw you down a well," under her breath.

Wynne's lips continued to move for another thirty seconds after the altercation, but the curses she came up with were silent - for the most part.

---

Filming the establishing shots on the wide street in Silver Creek reminded Wynne of someone poking a termitary with a stick. From one moment to the next, everything came alive as the loud call of 'Action!' made the entire squad of extras go through the patterns assigned to them.

People walked, talked and tipped their elaborate hats. The apron-clad blacksmith swung a hammer over an anvil while a pair of teenagers mucked out at the livery stable. Workers carried wooden crates into a storage facility and ne'erdowells loitered near the saloons hoping to get a handout from one of the well-dressed citizens walking past them.

A couple of dangerous-looking hombres strolled along the street with their Colts down low and their spurs jangling. They were given wide berths by everyone including the mayor and his trophy wife, but not a caballero wearing a three-foot-wide sombrero who stood his ground when the gunslingers came close.

The school marm marched along holding an armful of books. She kept her eyes on the ground when she walked past the mayor's wife as if the mere presence of the woman in the jade-green dress was an affront to her. It would be a quiet day at the town's school as only three pupils followed in the marm's wake like goslings to a mother goose.

In the middle of all that, the articulated crane had brought the director of photography and the A-camera operator thirty feet into the air. The crane moved through its pre-set, computer-controlled motions by making a slow descent while panning to the right.

The orchestrated chaos lasted until the first-unit director Stephen Markham yelled 'Cut!' from somewhere out of sight - the call was followed at once by Alison Gardner barking "Reset!  Wardrobe!  Makeup!" into her bullhorn.

"Lawwwwwwwr-die," Wynne croaked as the scene turned even more chaotic by having the wardrobe and makeup people enter the set while the extras hurried back to their original marks for the subsequent take.

While the crane was readied for its next pass, the camera operator and the DP conferred with the director about the quality of the shots that had been sent to the computers inside the camera tent.

'Anybody know where I can find Lynn Donohue?' a male voice said from somewhere behind Wynne. Another call for Lynn Donohue was made before someone else pointed the person to The Last Original Cowpoke.

Wynne let out a "Haw?  Whazzat?" when she found herself tapped on the shoulder. The person doing the tapping was dressed as a cowboy in long riding boots, flared pants, chaps, a loud shirt and a leather vest. His costume was old and worn shiny, and his cowboy hat featured several bullet holes and was misshapen in a comical fashion. His haggard features and the poorly-groomed facial hair added to the image of a comic relief character - Wynne recognized him as one of the ne'erdowells who loitered outside the saloon.

"Lynn Donohue?"

"Close but no cee-gar, friend. I be Wynne Donnah-hew. Howdy," Wynne said and put out her hand for the traditional shaking. "An' y'all is?"

"Bruno Levine, the stunt coordinator."

"Lawrdie, I been lookin' fer y'all fer da past half hou-ah!  They done tole me y'all wanted ta tawk, but ya nevah came!"

"No, we had a problem with one of my guys. He had a bad leg cramp that needed medical attention."

"Okeh," Wynne said before the grin faded from her face. "Uh… lissen… 'bout them hosses. Yuh?  I ain't… I ain't too fond o' them hosses. So… mebbe… we could… figgah som'tin out, yuh?  Or y'all could mebbe-"

Bruno let out a chuckle. "Do you see any horses here?"

"Naw, an' I been wonderin' 'bout that, ack-chew-leh-"

"That's because we don't have any. This is a low-budget production. Do you have any idea how expensive horses are?  They need wranglers and special insurance and feed and someone to scoop up their shit. Forget the horses. Hell, we don't even have any mules!"

"Thank the bearded gah in the skah fer li'l favahs…" Wynne mumbled and took off her cowboy hat to show her gratitude to the Great Upstairs. "Anyhows, wotcha wanna tawk ta me 'bout, then?"

"It says on my call sheet you'll be fighting Rob Steele later on today-"

Wynne's eyes flew open and she took a hurried half-step back from the stunt coordinator. "It done said whut?!  Gigantoh Rob ag'inst li'l ol' me?!  Aw-haw, Ah ain't sure Ah be likin' da sound o' that one li'l bit, nosirree!"

"Wait, nobody told you?"

"Nobodda done tole me nuttin' 'bout nuttin' an' spe-shu-alleh nuttin' 'bout fightin' Mista Eight-feet-tall!  Lawwwwwwwwr-die, that ain't gonn' end well fer Wynne Donnah-hew, lemme tell ya!  Ah mebbe a lotta things, yuh?  A lotta things, but Ah sure ain't no dog-gone stunt fightah!  Hell, Ah ain't no fightah, period!  All mah skills lie in da field o' lovin', not fightin'!"

In the background, Alison Gardner let the extras and the rest of the world know that it was time for everyone to get on their marks for the second take.

Bruno Levine scrunched up his face and scratched his bushy beard. Since he was out of time for the moment, all he could do was shrug. "There must have been a foul-up somewhere. I think Rob's still getting his makeup done, but we need to get this squared after the take. Okay?"

"Yuh, whutevah, Mista. Ah ain't goin' nowhere… tho' Ah realleh oughttah be writin' mah las'will an' testament an' all… good shit almighteh, li'l ol' me fightin' Rob Steele…" Wynne mumbled as she watched the head stuntman run off to get back to the saloon.

---

The second take went south because of a technical problem with the articulated crane's hydraulic actuators, so the crew spent the next twenty minutes getting the A-camera off the platform and onto the dolly so they could get the important establishing shots in the can. In the meantime, the B-camera crew used the GyroCam to walk among the extras to film a few eye-level inserts and improvised texture scenes so none of the expensive location time would be wasted.

A wide grin never left Wynne's face as she watched a slight confrontation develop between the two dangerous-looking hombres and the mayor and his wife - the scene was played out several times to cover all the angles. Roscoe, Geoffrey Junior and Brenda acted with conviction though they had no dialogue; the retired stage actor playing the mayor had a line that he delivered in a distinguished tone befitting someone who had spent his entire career reciting the Bard. The camera seemed to appreciate Brenda in particular as she was given several lingering close-ups.

After sufficient coverage had been filmed of the confrontation, the camera crew moved over to the blacksmith to capture a little action at the anvil. From there, it moved to the livery stable where an old coot in buckskin waited for the stable boys to finish mucking out so he could get his pack mules.

An excited murmur rippled through the extras who were off-camera as one of the film's stars, the seasoned performer Roger Kennedy, arrived from his RV dressed like the town's sheriff. Even Wynne stood up on tip-toes to see the grizzled veteran speak to the GyroCam crew before he went into the log cabin that acted as the jail house and the sheriff's office - it had been built for the film by the construction crew.

The brief scene was nothing more than a throwaway moment of the sheriff exiting the log cabin and speaking to one of his deputies, but Wynne couldn't help but grin at being so close to someone she had watched so often on TV back in the day.

A series of shouts from the crew mounting the A-camera on the dolly signaled the end of the GyroCam's autonomous filming - the B-crew hurried back behind the tracks so they wouldn't be in the frame.

When Alison barked "On your original marks!  Quiet on set!" into her bullhorn, a complete silence fell over everyone present. The director soon called 'Action!' which made the entire circus act play out once more.

-*-*-*-

A little later on, Wynne pushed her hat forward to scratch her neck when she came face to face with the movie's first-unit director for the first time. The scratching didn't provide her with the sought-after insight as to where she had seen the man before, but she was certain she had. Since her accident as a young girl, her brain hadn't been too good at establishing neural connections, but it didn't give up rummaging through various boxes, chests, drawers and dust-covered lockers to come up with why the man seemed familiar.

Stephen Markham proved to be a somber-looking fifty-nine-year-old whose long face, torso and legs gave him an odd, squished appearance - the fact he was rail-thin only reinforced the illusion. His loafers and pants were held in complimentary shades of gray. Further up, he wore a khaki shirt and a neon-green Visit Venice Beach! sun hat that had been designed to be worn by someone forty years his junior.

A viewfinder and a pair of sunglasses were suspended around his neck on a key chain and a braided band, respectively. He carried a metal clipboard under his left arm where the top page was filled to the edges with handwritten notes of shot lists, things to try, things to avoid, good ideas, less-good ideas and bad ideas that had already been tested and found to be lacking. Markers in all the colors of the rainbow had been used to highlight certain paragraphs or diffuse blocks of text, but it all seemed a little confusing.

"Good morning, Miss Donegal," he said in a dry, passion-less voice that matched his exterior to a T.

Wynne needed to do a double-take at the wrong name. "Wait, wotcha call me?  I be Wynne Donnah-hew!"

"Pardon me. I'm Stephen Markham. Miss Donohue, I want you to drag your feet and limp into town nursing your left leg like you've spent the entire night fighting for your life."

"Right-O, Mista."

"No, your left leg," Stephen said before he turned away from a puzzled Wynne. "We'll use the A-cam on the dolly for the shot. When you hit your first marks, stop. The camera will come to you for a reaction close-up. You're weary, shell-shocked, thirsty and almost dead on your feet. It's a regular day in town but you know that's about to change."

"Right- I mean, yessir. Haw, I sure ain't gonn' have no problemo playin' thirsteh, nossirree."

"Good. The dolly will slide back but continue to focus on you, so stay in character. Once I give you a signal, continue into town. Don't forget the limp. This is where you'll say your first two lines. Let me hear them."

"Uh… lissen ta me, ev'reh-boddah!  We got bah-d trubbel comin'!"

Stephen chewed on his lips for a moment as he took in Wynne's appearance. "It needs to be punchier. Let's change the first part to 'everybody, listen to me.' The E is more effective than the L because it's a harder sound. The rest stays. Try again with a hard E."

"Ev'reh-boddah, lissen ta me!  We got bah-d trubbel comin'!"

"Much better," Stephen said and broke out in a satisfied nod. "It needs to be shouted or else it'll go under. Can you yell?"

"O-yuh!"

"All right. I think we're about ready for the first take."

Grinning, Wynne assumed a hunched-over posture like she really had been dragging an injured leg all night. "Okie-dokie… where that first mark o' mih-ne be?"

"One of the assistants will show you. Excuse me," Stephen said before he went back to speak to the B-camera team and Alison Gardner whose electronic bullhorn was ready to stir up the kind of bad trouble Wynne's character was there to warn the townsfolk of.

"Haw, I wondah if there be tih-me fer a beah or som'tin… mebbe?" Wynne mumbled as she looked over at the craft services table and the cooler boxes installed under it. "Tho' there wus that there thing there yestuhrdeh with the beah an' all that…  shoot, askin' sure can't hurt nuttin'," she continued as she began walking over there.

A couple of steps into the journey, she remembered her character's injuries and did her best to drag her left leg while letting out appropriate moans and groans.

"Howdy, pardnahs… ya woudden happen ta have som'tin Ah could use ta wet mah whissel, wouldya?"

The two people working at the craft services table were a man and a woman in their mid-twenties who both wore white aprons and surgical gloves so they wouldn't risk contaminating the food they were handling along the way. "Of course, Miss. Here you go," the woman said as she reached down to get a bottle of mineral water from the cooler box.

Wynne glared at the offending bottle of water for a little while before she pushed it back into the young woman's hands. "Naw, Ah meant a beah an' all."

"I'm sorry, Miss, but we don't serve alcoholic beverages here. It's against company policy-"

"So Ah gathah, but lissen he', there ain't no alco-hawl in them Fenwyck Dubbel Zerahs, friend. That be whah they be called Dubbel Zerahs, yuh?  Ya sure ya ain't got no Dubbel Zerahs down dere?"

The woman at the service table continued to smile although it had turned a little strained. "We have carbonated and uncarbonated mineral water. Also orange juice, pineapple juice, papaya juice, cranberry juice, easy apple cider, easy pear cider, easy elder flower cider-"

"Lawrdie…" Wynne said and let out a deep sigh. "Okeh. Ferget it. How 'bout a sandwich instead, then?"

That was the young man's field of expertise, so he took over. Pointing down at the other cooler box, he said: "We have vegan egg salad, meat-free pastrami, lactose-free cheese spread-"

"Merceh Sakes, y'all realleh want them fih-ne folks he' ta starve, dontcha?  Whe'dahell's da fried chicken?  Hambahrgers?  Spare ribs in graveh?  Meat loaf an' sweet patahtahs in spiceh sawce?  Awww… ya ain't got nuttin' o' the above?  Ah mean, realleh?"

The craft service people both looked horrified at Wynne's rather unhealthy suggestions. "How about a banana or a carrot, Miss?" the young man croaked.

After a long moment of pure, unadulterated staring, Wynne shook her head and moved away while letting out a long string of moans and groans at what the world was coming to.

---

Just shy of twenty minutes later, a filthy and bloodied cowboy limped into town dragging her left leg behind her. Some of the townspeople stopped to stare at the crude figure and her torn clothes. "Ev'reh-boddah, lissen ta me!  We got bahhhh-d trubbel comin'!" the cowboy yelled at the top of her lungs.

'Somebody get the sheriff!' was the immediate reply. Soon, Roger Kennedy came out of the sheriff's office donning his ten-gallon hat as he did so. His spurs jingled hard as he stomped along the dirt trail between the wooden buildings - the GyroCam crew filmed his exit and the first part of his walk while staying out of frame of the A-camera on the dolly up at Wynne's spot.

Stephen Markham was hunched over behind the A-camera while keeping a close eye on proceedings through his viewfinder. His nodding suggested he was satisfied with what he saw.

When he called "Cut!  That was pretty good, but we need one more for coverage," Alison Gardner went to work at once with a barked 'Reset!  Quick turnaround!  Wardrobe!  Makeup!  Make it snappy!' that echoed across the entire set despite the fact she was standing eighty feet away on the other side of the central dirt trail.

Wynne stood up straight and shuffled back to the original X that had been put on the ground with two pieces of string. All the way there, she tried to spit out the hair in her mouth that had come close to making her flub her second line. The director hadn't said anything so she guessed he had accepted the way she had said it, but her scrunched-up face proved that it annoyed her.

Her demeanor changed when she spotted Mandy waving at her a short distance away off to the left. The sheriff was accompanied by Rodolfo and Beatrice who appeared to be sharing one of the radical sandwiches from the craft services table. Wynne took off her cowboy hat to wave back - though she wanted to be closer to Mandy, she knew there wouldn't be time for that.

Seeing the food that was munched on with great relish reminded Wynne of the unfortunate fact that she hadn't had a beer all morning, nor anything to eat since she and Brenda had enjoyed bowls of milk and corn flakes and slices of toast at twenty past six.

Single cans, wrapped six-packs and even entire crates of Fenwyck beer began to swim across the heavens accompanied by flying fried chickens, tail-wagging hot dogs, bouncing cheeseburgers and a rolling watermelon as dessert. Wynne stared wide-eyed at the cornucopia of treats that circled her until she shook her head hard to get back to the reality she was supposed to be in - just in time, too, as Alison soon let out a barked "On your marks!"

With the hallucinations consigned to the history books, the villainous hair in her mouth became the center of her attention. She had no handkerchief or paper towel she could use to wipe her tongue, but she still managed to vanquish the hair with a series of splutters that grew so loud several people turned to stare at her.

The success left her grinning - all in all, she was ready for the next take that included two of her lines and her big reaction close-up. The final line of dialogue, "It's here!" was scheduled to come up later in the day.

She furrowed her brow as a thought came to her. It had something to do with Rob Steele, the huge stuntman who portrayed the ghoul, but she couldn't yet connect enough dots to see what the final picture was supposed to be. She looked around to try to spot his recognizable frame but was unable to see him anywhere. The thought continued to rattle around in her brain box for a short while before it fizzled out. Shrugging, she rolled her shoulders and hunched over to prepare for the call.

Stephen Markham soon went into position behind the A-camera that remained fixed on the dolly. The viewfinder's ocular was pressed against his eye to see if anything needed to be adjusted in the background or among the extras prior to the take.

Before the director could call Action, the short-tempered Alison Gardner ran afoul of a hapless offender who couldn't stop sneezing. Much like when Barry Simms had drawn the production manager's ire back at the Goldsboro set, her voice grew in volume from mere loud to apocalyptic when the unfortunate individual continued to disturb the set. "Quiet on set!  I said, quiet on set!  Are you deaf back there?!  What part of quiet on set don't you understand?!  All right, you have one!  More!  Chance!  To!  Shut!  Up!"

Though the Ragnarok Of Noise had little effect on the poor sneezer, not a split second went by after Alison's final word had rolled across the set before an enormous swarm of real-life bats flew out of the gallery closest to where the irate production manager stood. Howling, she dropped the electronic bullhorn and dove for cover on the desert floor.

At first, everyone among the cast, crew and assembled law enforcement officers just stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the black mass of shrieking mammals that made a beeline - or bat-line - for Silver Creek's main street and the full group of extras who had lined up in perfect order for the next take.

The less-brave among the extras were already heading for the hills when the first bat reached them; the bravest followed the examples set by the others a few seconds later when the entire swarm descended upon them like an elite squadron of dive bombers.

The bats swarmed around and around between the derelict buildings and the brand-new, fake facades like they wanted to show their displeasure at being disturbed by such loud voices after decades of solitude and serenity. Their shrieking echoed between the wooden houses and was in fact repeated in many different keys by the fleeing extras.

Wynne just stood there all agape. After a heartbeat or two, she glanced over at Mandy who had slapped a palm against her face and was in the process of shaking her head over and over again.

Behind Wynne, the director stood up straight to take in the full scope of the chaos and pandemonium that took place fifty yards away from them. "What… what are those things doing on my set?" he said and threw his arms out wide.

A dark chuckle escaped Wynne's throat as she glanced over her shoulder at the director and the camera operators. "What can I say, Mista… othah than welcome ta Goldsborah. Yuh. Where Crappeh Things Happen, like them new-fangled citeh limits signs say."

Beatrice soon ran over to Wynne while Mandy and Rodolfo took off to help the extras where they could. "Damn, this is freaky!  I hate bats… why aren't you freaked out?"

"Naw, Quick Draw… them things jus' be reg'lar bats. We be a far biggah threat ta them than them crittahs is ta us," Wynne said and pushed her hat back from her brow. With everything up in the air in a metaphorical as well as literal sense, she moved out of the hunched-over position she had been in to simulate her injured leg. " 'Cept, o' course, if them li'l crittahs be vampiah bats!  Ooooh, mebbe they iz vampiah bats?  Would kinda fit the theme, yuh?"

The look on Beatrice's face was a good reflection of the words the followed: "Not funny. Not funny in the least."

"Naw?"

"No."

"I thunk it wus funneh. Okeh, I sure hope Blackie an' Goldie ain't too close ta that there ac-shun, tho'… they both know bats 'cos we see 'em out at ou-ah trailah park an' all, but they be on leashes, so… shoot, mebbe I bettah moseh on ovah an' see how them dawggies be doin'. Yuh."

Wynne turned to look at Stephen Markham and the camera crew whose expressions proved they had no idea what to do about any of it. "Howdy there, Mista directah?  Mista directah, I need a wohhhh-rd. See, mah dawggies be-"

From one moment to the next, the portable radio on Beatrice's belt crackled to life. Plenty of static and what sounded like a physical struggle accompanied Rodolfo Gonzalez' frantic and even panicky words: '-puty Reilly, we got bad trouble here!  Real bad trouble!  We need-'

"Haw, that be mah lih-ne whut ol' Rodolfo jus- awwwwwwww-shittt!" Wynne said, smacking her palm against her forehead when the senior deputy's message had filtered through to her brain.

Beatrice and Wynne stared at each other for the precise amount of two sped-up heartbeats before they both took off in a sprint. "Rodolfo, are you all right?!  Answer me!" Beatrice yelled into the radio.

"Ask 'im where they at!  We need-a know where they at!"

Wynne and Beatrice's expeditious interceptor mission grew bothersome when they had to duck, weave and thread their way through a large group of construction workers and other set people who stormed the other way to escape the bats.

As Wynne flew past the burly, foul-mouthed fellow who had bothered her and Mandy the night before at Moira's, she sent him an Evil Eye but didn't have time to check if it had found its target or not.

"Rodolfo, where are you?!  Sheriff?  Are you on this frequency?" Beatrice yelled.

A moment later, they had no choice but to come to screeching halts as the swarm of bats chose them as their next buzzing victims. "Hitta deck!  Hitta deck onna dubbel!" Wynne cried and dove onto the ground - Beatrice just stood there like a telephone pole while she tried to parse the odd words that had come out of Wynne's mouth, but the approaching bats sent her down next to The Last Original Cowpoke in a hurry.

"Nih-ce o' ya ta drop bah!  Ya got hay in yer eahs, de-per-teh?!  I told ya ta hitta deck!" Wynne cried while she crawled over to the younger woman.

"I don't know what the hell you're saying!"

Wynne stared at the deputy before a couple of low-flying bats forced her to cover her head with her hands. Once she was back in the clear, she let out a growled "Whyindawohhhhhh-rld iz ev'rehbodda moanin' 'bout mah dang-blasted diah-lect all offa sudden?  It ain't nevah been no trubbel befo'!  This he' gotta be shit-on-Wynne week or som'tin… I ain't had no beah all dang morn' or nuttin' ta eat, neithah, an' I didden even get mah dog-gone close-up!"

The shrieking bats flew around in dizzying circles for a moment longer before they took off once more - Beatrice and Wynne were soon back on their feet and hurrying ahead without knowing where to go. The best, but not the fastest, approach was to move from building to building and look inside, so that's what they started doing.

Diego Benitez ran toward Wynne and Beatrice waving his sombrero; he caught up with them at the livery stable where one of the original, century-old doors had been ripped clean off. "What a mess!  Jeez, you'd think these people never saw a bat before. They're only scaring the poor animals with all their panicking!" he said while they ran over to the smithy that had been abandoned in such a hurry the prop anvil had been knocked on its side.

"Poor animals?!" Beatrice said in a screechy voice; she let out an annoyed grunt when she found herself ignored.

"Yuh… big citeh folks," Wynne said and rolled her eyes.

With the smithy a bust as well, the deputy and the Cowpoke hurried over to the next building with Diego in tow. He continued: "Have you seen Brenda and whatshisname who played the mayor?  I kinda lost track of them when the bats came…"

"Naw!  Ain't had no tih-me 'cos we got biggah trubbel, Diegoh-" Wynne said, but she was cut off when the radio crackled to life again - she came to an abrupt halt to stare at the portable unit when she recognized Mandy's voice.

'We're at the storage house across from the Whisky Warehouse!' the sheriff said through a wall of static; the voice had been harried like she was in some kind of fight. 'Rodolfo's down for the count-'

A cry of "Dammit!" burst out of Beatrice while Diego added a "What the hell?"

'-and the creature from last night is back!  It won't-'

The transmission was cut off; then a series of shots rang out from the old building across the street from the saloon where the goblin box had originally been kept. Five loud reports akin to logs crackling in a fire were heard by everyone on the street, but only a few had a big enough surplus of mental energy to react to yet another disaster.

Wynne didn't just react, she took off and ran toward the storage house at world-record pace. Out of sheer instinct, she drew the Colt Peacemaker she had in her leather holster. It was only when she held it up that it struck her it wasn't a real gun but a tin-can prop that could only intimidate a stack of papers if it entered a second career as a paperweight. "Bea!"  She yelled over her shoulder. "You got aneh scatterguh-ns in them Durangahs y'all came in?"

"No!  How could we know we were gonna need them?!" Beatrice yelled back; the deputy was ten paces after the low-flying Wynne and was unable to catch up despite her younger years and better fitness.

"Sombitch!  Okeh, gotta imprah-vih-se," Wynne growled as she reached the outer wall of the storage room. She flew past the fake facade and leaned against the inner, century-old woodwork. Peeking in through one of the empty window frames, she caught a glimpse of Rodolfo on his hands and knees with blood dripping from his nose.

The white-bearded, retired stage actor playing the mayor lay next to the senior deputy - he was flat on his back with his arms spread out in unnatural angles. Whether he had been knocked unconscious or had been killed was impossible to see from Wynne's spot at the window. "Dag-nabbit all ta hell an' back… okeh, gotta use yer noggin, Wynne… use yer noggin… hell, the' ain't nuttin' up the' ta use…"

A loud crash and a blood-curdling scream sent a river of ice down Wynne's spine. Peeking in for a second time, she spotted Mandy diving for cover behind an overturned crate. The familiar blond mop reappeared almost at once holding her smoking sidearm. Her Mountie hat had fallen off in the frantic leap, but it was soon back on her head - she offered Wynne a thumbs-up the moment she saw her around the frayed edge of the window frame.

Wynne let out a long sigh of relief at the sight, but it got stuck in her throat when she looked further to her right. Not only did she clap eyes on the hideous, cloak-wearing shadow-beast pressing itself into a corner of the storage building, it had once again grabbed hold of Brenda Travers whose gorgeous jade-green dress had been torn and filthied.

As expected, Brenda's face was white as a sheet and - although still standing on her own - she appeared to be in such a state of shock that she had lost all contact with the rest of the world around her.

All of this had happened within the span of a few seconds; Beatrice soon caught up with the faster Wynne and jumped into position on the other side of the same empty window frame. "Can… you see… anything?" she said between panting and puffing. Her sidearm was held ready in the regulatory two-handed grip.

"Ah sure can, de-per-teh. That nasteh-ass sombitch got his claws on ou-ah darlin' Brendah all ovah ag'in!  Mandeh is ovah in da othah cornah behind that there crate there… Rodolfo is ta yer left… an' so is that there ol' geezah who done played the mayah!"

A loud groan escaped Beatrice as she spotted her senior deputy on the floor. "Looks like we're the rescue team, Wynne. Rush in on three?"

"Not without aneh kind o' fiahpowah, we ain't!"

"But don't you have a six-gun?"

Wynne shook her head as she drew the fake Colt once more. "That there sombitch gonn' die laughin' if Ah show him this he' pitiful thing. Ah done seen beah cans that wus mo' solid than this guh-n!"

After rubbing her brow for a few moments, Beatrice reached down and pulled her right pantleg out of her boot - she had a second holster Velcro-strapped to her ankle like she was the long-lost third member of the Cagney & Lacey duo. The backup holster held a small revolver that she pulled out and handed to Wynne. "Here… it's not a three-fifty-seven Magnum or a forty-four Smith like Dirty Harry's, but it works. It's clean and fully loaded."

"Dang, Bea!  How long did y'all carreh that thing?" Wynne said as she took the revolver. She tried to insert the small firearm into the traditional cowboy holster on her thigh, but the gun was so small compared to the period-correct Peacemaker that it simply disappeared down the hole. Once she had dug it back out, she kept it in her hand instead.

"Since my first day in uniform. Ready?"

"Shoot… naw, Ah ain't reddeh. But it ain't gonn' be no bettah if we done waited fer Eastah, the Fourth o' Joo-lai an' Christmas neithah, so… yuh," Wynne said and mashed her hat down onto her locks. "Y'all take care o' Rodolfo an' the ol' fella. Yuh?  Ah'ma-gonn' head straight fer Sheriff Mandeh!"

"Got it. On three?"

"Naw, countin' takes too dang long. Les'go!"

Barging inside the storage building, Beatrice and Wynne split up at once. While the deputy ran over to the bleeding Rodolfo and the supine actor, Wynne carried on ahead and plotted a direct course for the same crate that Mandy used for cover.

The shadow-beast let out a bellowing roar at seeing the people it had already tried to eradicate the night before. Its horned head, pitch-black eyes, pale-gray face and the fangs that protruded from its wide mouth all came together to create a frightening spectacle.

To counter the threat from the armed attackers, it moved sideways toward the exit while it used its long arms to tighten the grip around Brenda's waist - the inch-long claws had yet to harm her skin, but the jade-green dress was beyond salvage.

Wynne threw herself forward intending to perform a true Western-style roll so she could pop up next to Mandy, but the roll turned into a lead-butted belly-flop that would have required a second take had the camera been filming her effort. "Howdy, darlin'!" she said after she clambered to her knees. She ducked down at once so only the cowboy hat, her brow and her eyes were above the upper edge of the crate.

Another loud roar burst out of the creature who continued to inch closer to the exit.

"Holeh shittt, that fella sure is PO'ed!  Whaddahell did we do ta get'im this steamin' hawt?  An' whaddahell happened ta ol' Rodolfo an' the actah fella?"

"Rodolfo helped Brenda and a few others in here to get them away from the bats," Mandy said without taking her eyes off the creature and its hostage. "But the beast was already here… it attacked them and threw them around. Then it grabbed Brenda."

"Sombitch!  'R y'awright, Sheriff Mandeh?  Who done all that there shootin'?"

"That was me. Warning shots… and I'm fine, but who cares now!"

"Ah care!"

"We got more pressing matters," Mandy said through clenched teeth. When she noticed Wynne held the small, black revolver, she scrunched up her face in annoyance. "Where did you get that?"

"Quick Draw Bea. This he' li'l thing is her backup guh-n."

Grunting, Mandy glanced over at Beatrice who had helped Rodolfo back on his feet; the two deputies worked together to half-drag, half-carry the stricken actor out of the storage building through another empty window. When the rookie deputy sensed she was being watched, she turned around and gave Mandy a thumbs-up before she and Rodolfo crawled through the window frame with their inanimate patient.

The beast continued to roar out its disapproval of the situation; it and its stunned hostage had almost reached the door, but a quick peek outside proved there were far more threats waiting outside.

"Let the woman go!" Mandy roared in a solid imitation of the beast's own noises. When nothing happened, she stepped away from the wooden crate with the weapon aimed at the creature. "Let her go!  Now!  I won't say it again!"

Nothing happened except that the beast looked outside once more and let out another roar.

"Goddammit," Mandy continued, "how the hell do we force that thing into letting Brenda go?  We can't communicate with it and it didn't even flinch when I fired the warning shots!  It's far too risky to shoot its legs out with Brenda so close…"

"Yuh, this he' is sure as stink-on-shoot one o' them there stalemates," Wynne said and followed Mandy ahead - a moment later, she came to an abrupt halt. "Wait… Mandeh, that nasteh-ass sombitch be 'boutta do som'tin!"

The shadow-beast seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion as its opponents regarding the stalemate. Moving in a single, fluid motion, it wrapped its cloak around a shrieking Brenda to cover her fully, dropped to its knees and curled itself up into a black bundle on the dusty, old floor.

"Now whaddahell is that sombitch doin'?!  Brendah?  Brendah?!  Y'all still in there?" Wynne cried as she jumped forward.

Mandy followed at once with her service firearm pointed ahead of her. "Take the right flank!  I'll go left… careful!"

"Yuh, Ah be careful, awright… y'all don't hafta worreh none 'bout that…"

Wynne and Mandy had only just begun their slow journey closer to the eerie black bundle when the entire swarm of shrieking bats entered the storage building and filled the airspace as an impenetrable black mass.

"Lawww-rdie, it be them durn bats all ovah ag'in!  Fer cryin' out loud!" Wynne howled as she dove for cover once more. Several bats thumped into her before she could find her way back down onto the floor - one of the direct hits sent her cowboy hat flying. "Mah hat!  Whutevah big or li'l crittah we be fightin', they always, always, always go fer mah stinkin' hat!  If that ain't Wynne Donnah-hew in a dang-blasted nutshell, Ah ain't sure whaddahell is!  Ah jus' don't get it…" she said as she grabbed her head and only touched hair.

"Keep your head down, Wynne!  They're more aggressive this time!" Mandy cried as several of the bats performed strafing runs at her that came so close she could have reached up and swatted them away had she wanted to.

"Ya don't say?!"

The bats grew more and more bold in their attacks until they assembled to move up to just below the ceiling. After circling like a living whirlpool for a few moments, they gathered back into their regular swarm and exited the storage building through the poorly-hinged door and the empty window frames.

"Haw, this he' sure ain't mah day-" Wynne said and clambered to her feet once more - then she came to a dead stop. She needed to rub her eyes twice to believe what she looked at: the spot on the floor where the dark creature had curled itself into a bundle was devoid of any kind of life, human, creature or otherwise. "Lookie there, Sheriff Mandeh!  That sombitch is goh-ne!  An' so is Brendah!"

*
*
CHAPTER 8

Blood-curdling screams rang out from the dirt trail between the century-old wooden buildings. The familiar flapping of countless wings were soon added to the mix as was a distinct thump-and-groan that in turn generated even more screams and cries.

"Now what?!" Mandy barked as she ran over to look out of the empty window. The extras and the film crew continued to run around like headless chicken, but her experienced eye ignored that to zoom in on the sight of not one but two of her deputy sheriffs in various states of disarray down in the dirt. Roaring out loud, she stormed out of the storage building to help her fellow officers.

Wynne had already opened her mouth to inquire about the most recent events, but closed it again when she found herself all alone. "Yuh…" she said and scratched her neck. "An' there Ah wus, thinkin' this he' mooh-vie bizz might be kinda excitin' an' all… Ah shoudda known da shitteh would hitteh da fan."

'Wynne!  I need you out here!'

"Comin', darlin'!" Wynne shouted and hurried outside. Pandemonium continued to reign supreme out there, but at least the swarm of bats had left for greener pastures elsewhere. Mandy knelt next to a dazed Beatrice who nursed her left arm.

Rodolfo got to his feet just as Wynne joined them. He held a bloody handkerchief to his nose while displaying an expression of sublime annoyance with the whole situation.

Grumbling under his breath, the senior deputy staggered over to the retired stage actor playing the mayor; the elderly fellow had come to in the meantime, but was still flat on his back and moaning with shock and pain.

"Whaddahell done happened he'?" Wynne said and threw her arms in the air.

"That big, ugly S.O.B. came out of nowhere and tried to grab Beatrice," Rodolfo said in a voice that was muffled by the handkerchief. "She gave it a boot in the cojones with one of her kickboxing moves-"

"Haw!  Way ta go, Bea!" Wynne said and offered the rookie deputy a big thumbs-up. "Wait… where ol' Brendah be at?  Awwwww-shittt… it didden let her go?!"

Rodolfo shook his head but regretted it at once when it only made more blood seep from his nose. "No… it still had her?"

"Yuh!"

"We didn't see her, Wynne…"

"Whaddaya mean ya didden see her?  She sure ain't no shittin' violet in that there green dress an' all… an' that thing had'er in a close hold!  Howdahell coudden ya see her?!"

"We just didn't, okay?  And what the frick is a shitting violet?" Rodolfo said before he knelt next to the actor to help him back upright.

A series of thunderous barks heralded the arrival of the fierce, fiery and above all frustrated Blackie who came to a screeching, dirt-flying halt in the middle of the chaos. The German Shepherd was so eager to join the action that she bounced up and down like an overinflated beach ball. The leather leash that had kept her tied to the metal staircase dragged along the ground behind her after it had been gnawed through.

"Haw!  Howdahell y'all get he', Blackie?  Wussen ya saposed ta be tied up an' all?"

Woof!  Woof-woof-woof-woof-woof-woof-woof-woooooooof!

"Okeh, Goldie done bit off that there leash fer ya?"

Woof!  Woof-woof-woooooof…

"But she didden feel lack takin' part?  Yuh, that be ou-ah Goldie awright."

Woof?

"Whazzat?"

Woof-woof?

"Naw, this he' deal ain't done yet. Dontcha worreh 'bout that. Y'all gonn' have plentah o' opportuniteh ta chomp on some monstah buh-tt," Wynne said with a concerned look etched onto her face.

Further screams from the far side of the film set made everyone spin around and stare in that direction. When someone cried 'Watch out!  Watch out!  It's going into the mineshaft!' Wynne's jaw began to sink toward her chest - a moment later, she groaned out loud and pulled her cowboy hat down to cover her eyes.

She stood like that for a few heartbeats before the hat was whipped off in a show of repentance. A brief look at Beatrice and the big bruise on the side of her face where the beast had struck her in retaliation made Wynne clench her jaw hard. "Mah friends," she said in a voice so full of sincerity that the others turned to look at her. "Ah reckon Ah kinda got a no-shun o' where that there sombitch done came from. An'… shoot, Ah reckon it kinda, sorta, mebbe ha' been me who summoned it he'… or som'tin."

Blackie stopped bouncing around to stare at her owner - everybody else shot various puzzled looks at The Last Original Cowpoke as well. "That's nonsense, Wynne," Mandy said as she got up and helped the dazed Beatrice to her feet.

"Naw, Ah don't reckon it is, Sheriff Mandeh… 'cos… that there mih-nin' gallereh-thing there ovah yondah, yuh?  It jus' happened ta be da place where Ah… shoot… stored that there box o' goblins the othah day."

Rodolfo uttered an emphatic "Shit!" while Beatrice just looked puzzled and said: "The box of what?"

Mandy scratched her eyebrow and let out a dark chuckle.

"Yuh, sure ain't no lie," Wynne continued. " 'member y'all done tole me Ah bettah take care o' bizzness with them li'l crittahs in case them mooh-vie folks wus gonn' shoot a scene or som'tin in da Whiskeh Warehouse?  Well, me an' them dawggies drove down he' an' moved da box. Ah wus gonn' bureh it across the State Route somewheah, but that wus the day o' the realleh bad desuhrt storm so Ah kinda, sorta got lost he', yuh?  An' mah knees started knockin' 'cos Ah had the shits from carryin' them li'l crittahs… so Ah put it in the-"

"-Gallery instead," Mandy said and looked toward the heavens for guidance.

"Dat be 'bout the long an' the short offit, yes Ma'am. But Ah didden break the seal or da pack-itch or… or nuttin'!  Ah ain't that dumb!  It wus fulleh wrapped when Ah done left it!"

A long sigh left the sheriff as she looked up in the hope that some kind of divine intervention had shown up while she hadn't been watching. "It wasn't your fault, Wynne. This sort of thing just happens here."

"Mebbe it does… but it don't change nuttin' 'bout the fact that there nasteh-ass thing got ou-ah darlin' Brendah."

Beatrice continued to have a look on her face that proved she was one or two jigsaw pieces shy of completing the puzzle. Since the missing pieces happened to be vital components of understanding the exact sequence of events, she said: "Will someone please tell the rookie what the flip is going on here?!  Aren't goblins just old-wives' tales?  And what are they doing in a box?"

Wynne had already opened her mouth to explain when Mandy put her hands in the air to act as the calm eye in the fierce storm that raged all around them. "Later, Deputy. All right, listen up!" the sheriff said in a stern voice. "Here's what we'll do. I'll get in touch with Barton City and request urgent backup. We obviously need ambulances, Air Paramedics, crowd control, the works. Senior Deputy, try to rein in the extras without creating further panic. I'm sure Mr. Benitez will help you if you can find him in this mess."

"Will do, Sheriff," Rodolfo said and took off in a hurry.

"Deputy Reilly," Mandy continued, "do you have any idea where Don Woodward could be?  There's something wrong with my radio."

"No, Ma'am."

"Dammit. All right, hail him and get him to meet you at the camera tent… if it's still standing. I want you to keep a lid on those movie people."

The young deputy nodded hard and whipped out her radio. "Yes, Ma'am. Consider it done." Pressing the transmit key, she said: "Mobile Unit Three to Mobile Unit Four…" as she hurried closer to the compound south of the section where the filming had taken place before the horror Western had turned real.

Mandy dug into her pocket to retrieve her smartphone. After finding the direct number to the MacLean County Major Incident Unit in her registry, she brought the Watch Commander up to speed and let him know what was needed in a short, sharp and concise message.

"Shoot," Wynne said and put her hat back on. "Gettin' them folks up from Barton Citeh gonn' take way too dang-blasted long, Mandeh!  We need-a do som'tin perdeh dog-gone snappeh!  Ah ain't nevah gonn' fergive mahself if som'tin happen ta Brendah… Ah know y'all gonn' say Ah need-a stay the hell outta oh-fi-shual po-leese bizzness, but Ah ain't gonn' lissen ta ya this he' tih-me, Sheriff. Ah'ma-gonn' make a bull run inta that there mih-nin' gallereh-thing ta rescue mah friend an' nebbah… come what may."

Mandy had only just put her telephone away before she drew her sidearm and ejected the half-spent magazine. "We both are, Wynne. And Blackie, too," she said as she reached into the pouch on the side of her utility belt to swap the old one for a full magazine that she slapped into the pistol at once.

Blackie sensed that something awesome was about to happen, so she let out a string of happy woofing and stormed around in dizzying circles.

A grim mask of determination fell over Wynne as she stared at the mouth of the mine gallery she had already visited once that week. Out of sheer instinct, she assumed a stance that revealed The Last Original Cowpoke had shown up and was ready for action. "Les'go," she said and began to stride across the trail; her spurs jingled and jangled as she put her boots to the ground.

---

The entrance to the gallery was reached in a matter of seconds. Like a pair of characters in a Western cliffhanger serial from the 1940s, Wynne and Mandy lined up on either side of the opening and threw various hand-signals at each other to work out which of the two should enter first. Blackie kept standing in the middle for a moment before she shuffled over to Wynne.

After an impressive series of hand-waves, thumbs-up, thumbs-down, thumbs-to-the-side and pointing-at-self that led to nothing but confusion, Mandy decided to cut to the chase by pulling rank on her partner and venturing into the darkness.

Wynne, who had been in the middle of yet another sequence of hand-waves, chuckled and followed the sheriff inside. Patting her thigh, she alerted Blackie that she should run in as well. Once she brought up the rear, she drew Beatrice's black revolver from the holster on her thigh but didn't yet cock the hammer.

The mine gallery was one of four that had been in use from the late 1800s until 1904 where the last batch of silver ore had been shipped south to Cavanaugh Creek - by pack mules since no roads existed yet - for further processing. The four galleries were all equipped with twenty-inch-thick wooden beams that acted as support arches. They had been put up every twenty-five feet to keep everything stable, but even so, two of the four galleries had collapsed over
the course of the decades.

In period, kerosene lamps had been installed in the ceiling near each of the support arches, but the rusty remains had long since lost the ability to hold flammable liquid. A Y-fork had been built into each of the galleries 150 yards on from the opening to cover more terrain inside the hills; each offshoot continued another 150 yards on from the branching point until they reached the literal dead ends.

Mandy, Blackie and Wynne moved further into the dark mine gallery that was only fifteen feet wide and seven feet tall. The thick layer of sand on the ground silenced their footfalls, but it also acted as a reminder of the fragile nature of such a construction.

They moved twenty paces ahead before they stopped; then an additional twenty paces followed by a second stop. Everything remained calm so they covered forty paces in their next pass - by now, they had ventured so deep into the dark gallery that Mandy needed to use her smartphone's flashlight app to see where it would be safe to step. The light would alert their opponent of their presence, but that was the lesser evil.

Mandy set off again, but came to a halt after a mere handful of paces. "Stop. Listen," she said in a whisper.

Wynne had already opened her mouth to acknowledge the request in her typical style when it came to her that such an approach would negate, or even be harmful to, the desired effect. A whispered "Okeh," was her only reply.

Sounds of heavy breathing reached their ears from somewhere further into the mine gallery. It was impossible to say how far ahead the sounds came from, but there was little doubt the beast was there. Another, much fainter, sound was harder to identify until it was repeated. "That be Brendah!  Lawrdie, she be moanin'… that sombitch bettah not ha' done nuttin' ta her!" Wynne whispered.

A sudden cry was followed by an inhuman roar; then another cry that made Blackie let out a throaty growl.

Shaking her head, Mandy moved over to the other side to hook up with Wynne. "Where exactly did you put the goblin box?" she said in a quiet voice that was no longer a full whisper.

"Aw, we alreddeh be past that spot, Sheriff Mandeh," Wynne said and pointed behind her with her thumb. "It wus onleh mebbe thirteh feet inside that there openin'. That wus the day o' the bad dust storm so it wus perdeh dark an' I didden had no light or nuttin' 'cos I hadda use both hands ta carreh the box… yuh?"

"It wasn't there."

"Aw, dang-blasted… that there sombitch musta taken it. But whah?"

"Can't say. Maybe we'll find out."

"Yuh, or mebbe we jus' oughttah kick Mista Nasteh's bee-hind up one wall an' down the othah!"

Blackie made herself comfortable on the sand while her owners debated the matter between them; she looked from one to the other without understanding much of their conversation - she was just there to sink her eye teeth into a Baddie-Burger, the rest was none of her concern.

Another cry from somewhere ahead made Wynne smack a fist onto her thigh. "That sombitch deffa-nete-leh be doin' som'tin ta Brendah!  Ah'ma-gonn' get real ugleh 'bout it!  We need-a get a dang-blasted move on, Sheriff Mandeh!  Standin' he' yappin' ain't gonn' get ou-ah friend back!"

"I agree. Let's move out," Mandy said and went back to the opposite wall of the gallery. After signaling Wynne and Blackie it was time to continue, the raiders set off toward an obstacle they hadn't had on their radars.

---

"Whaddindahell's that there now?  Mo' trubbel!" Wynne croaked as they arrived at the mine gallery's Y-fork after taking another fifty-nine paces. "Where dat dere ghoul be at, ya reckon, Sheriff Mandeh?  Off ta da left or da right?"

"I don't know. The sand's not disturbed in either tunnel," Mandy said and shone her smartphone onto the ground. "Of course, if it flew in there, it wouldn't be…"

"Haw!  Som'tin jus' came ta me… Blackie… Blackie, use that there supahfih-ne noh-se o' yers ta sniff out ou-ah darlin' Brendah!"

Woof… woof-woof?

"Whazzat?  Whah cantcha jus' put yer noh-se ta that there ground an' woof me if Brendah wus he' or not?"

"Wynne," Mandy said with a slight shaking of her head, "that's not how K-nine tracking works. Blackie can't sniff out anything without having something to compare it to… but we don't have anything of Brenda's. It's a no-go."

"Aw-shoot… okeh, Ah guess it be tih-me fer a li'l eenie-meenie-mineh-mo… beenie-weenie-he'-we-go… yuh, y'all go left. Blackie an' me be goin' right. Right?"

"Right."

"Yuh, 's whut Ah done said. Aw, nevah mind. C'mon, Blackie… we be goin' huntin' fer ugleh crittahs, yessirree!"

Mandy scratched her eyebrow for the umpteenth time at her partner's nature before she set off into the left corridor. The cone of light from her telephone soon bobbed along the walls as she ventured deeper and deeper into the century-old gallery.

---

Wynne moved ahead into the right-hand branch with Blackie in close company. Her legendary misfortune struck again as she discovered she had forgotten a tiny detail when she had performed her eenie-meenie chant: the darkness was overwhelming to the point where she couldn't see a hand in front of her face.

Patting down all her pockets to find her telephone so she could activate the flashlight, she let out a grunt when it dawned on her that she still wore the gunslinger costume rather than her own clothes. Everything down to her original socks was stored in a locked cabinet back at the wardrobe trailer - and that included her telephone.

"Lawwwwwwr-die, it jus' hadda happen. It jus' hadda happen… but whah did it hadda happen now, Ah ask?  Aw-hell, this ain't mah day. C'mon, Blackie… we ain't got no choice but ta backtrack an' hope mah sweet, li'l Mandeh had mo' luck."

Woof?

"Ah know, Ah know. Y'all wanna chomp on som'tin. Ah promise there gonn' be plenteh o' som'tin fer y'all ta chomp on a li'l latah, but it mebbe ain't gonn' be no flyin' crittah."

Wooooof…

"Naw. Sorreh," Wynne continued; as she turned around to head back, she thumped her shoulder into the wall instead. Not only did the surprise impact send her reeling, it caused her to fumble around and end up in the wrong direction altogether. "Owww-ch!  Dang, it be black in he'… okeh, we gotta go back… shoot… which way is back?  Gotta feel mah way forward… or backward… or whutevah-ward… okeh… this he' 's da wall… an' this he' 's also da wall… an' he' be mo' wall… an' mo' wall… awww-shittt!  Ah be lost!"

Woof!

"Yuh-yuh… we be lost!  Dag-nabbit!"

---

A few minutes after splitting up, Mandy reached the end of her branch of the mine gallery. There was nothing there that indicated it had been home to any kind of creature - dead or undead - since the mine was shut down, so she turned around and set off in a jog to head back to the Y-fork.

The light from her telephone aided her task and she had soon returned to the branching point. Turning into the other tunnel at once, she could hear Wynne cursing and swearing a blue streak some distance ahead of her. "Wynne?  Wynne!" she said as she jogged along with the light following the ground ahead of her.

'Mandeh?  Thank the bearded gah in da skah!  Where y'all at?  Ah be lost in he'!'

Woof!

'We be lost… dang, Blackie, y'all don't hafta woof that ev'reh tih-me… y'all know Ah always be includin' ya in mah-'

"I'm coming!"

'Yuh?  An' we ain't goin' nowheah so we realleh oughttah be able ta find each othah at some point between he' an' tamorrah… Ah hope. Dang, Ah need a beah…'

After a short while, the bobbing cone of light reached Wynne's cowboy boots. That The Last Original Cowpoke faced the wall with her nose close to being mashed against the jagged rock face was another story, and one so typical of Wynne that Mandy had to let out a brief chuckle.

Blackie let out a happy yap at seeing her other owner, or at least the light that indicated she was close by.

"That sure wussen partic-lar-leh funneh, lemme tell ya," Wynne mumbled as Mandy caught up with her. "Didya find anehthin'?"

"No. The creature must be in this branch," Mandy said and pointed the telephone forward so the light illuminated the next section of the gallery.

"Lawwwwwwwwr-die!  Haw, that means the nasteh sombitch coulda jumped me aneh tih-me he wanted ta!  Ah wondah whah he didden?"

"Maybe he remembered you from the garlic incident last night…"

"Yuh, mebbe. We bettah getta move on… ol' Brendah prolleh be gettin' sick with worreh. Snakes Alive, it sticks in mah craw that all the dang-blasted crap that always rains down on me done rubbed off on her, too. She be such a great dah-me… she sure don't desuh-rve this he' shi-"

Yet another of the creature's inhuman roars filled the mine gallery; as expected, it came from further along the branch Wynne, Mandy and Blackie were in, so they set off once more with Mandy and her flashlight app acting as the spearhead of the small attack force.

---

Close to the far end of the branch, a natural hollow had been created beyond a pile of rocks of irregular sizes and shapes - the drooping ceiling proved there had been a cave-in at some point.

The heavy breathing grew louder as Wynne and Mandy approached. Although they were yet to see anything specific, it was obvious they were almost on top of the beast and its captive. "Wynne," Mandy said in a voice that was so faint it couldn't even be called a whisper, "grab hold of Blackie's collar. I'll turn off the light and move ahead. We can't risk that thing jumping us before we're in place… and please, hold your fire until you know what you're shooting at. Okay?"

"Yuh!  Yuh, Ah heah ya, Sheriff Mandeh," Wynne whispered back. Reaching down, she took a firm hold of Blackie's collar so the eager dog wouldn't run off and get in harms' way - the German Shepherd let out a puzzled Woof? but seemed to understand the basics.

An inky blackness flooded the mine gallery the second Mandy deactivated the flashlight app. Flying blind in the most literal sense, she slipped the telephone into her pants pocket and drew her sidearm from the holster on her utility belt.

She moved forward with cautious steps while probing the condition of the ground with the tip of her boot. A couple of small pebbles and medium-sized rocks were in her way, but she was able to shove them aside with little drama.

Ahead of them, the heavy breathing grew louder and louder - until it stopped and turned into a throaty growl as if the beast had picked up their scents and prepared for a counterstrike.

"Wynne Donnah-hew, y'all bettah watch yer ass 'cos he' we go ag'in… awwwwww-shittt," Wynne whispered to herself as she rolled her shoulders. Her right hand still clutched Blackie's collar so she was unable to reach her borrowed revolver, but perhaps it was for the better given her legendary rotten luck.

The expletive had only just wafted through the darkness before the near-invisible creature spread its long arms to extend the cloak. Roaring, it tore away from its hiding place inside the natural hollow. The sound of flapping wings echoed through the gallery at such a high volume it sounded like the swarm of bats had returned.

'It's on the move- dammit, it flew straight past me!  Wynne, watch out!' Mandy cried, but Blackie let rip with a series of thunderous barks at the exact same time so the message was lost in the commotion.

The barks were deafening inside the narrow gallery. Sand and pebbles rained down from the ceiling each time the black German Shepherd used her formidable strength to let the world in general and the beast in particular know how she felt at that point in time.

The mini-rockslide soon grew stronger - it was a fact noted by Wynne due to her hat being pelted with all kinds of debris. A deep rumble started somewhere far above them. "Lawwwwwr-die!  Blackie!  Hush, Blackie!  Pipe down, will ya?  Y'all gonn' dropkick this he' dang-blasted mountain down on top offus if ya don't stick a sock in it right now!  Yuh?  Blackie, hush!"

When her words had no effect, she tried to slap her thigh and point back toward the fork in the branches, but - of course - the blackness surrounding them meant the German Shepherd was unable to see the signal.

"Aw, shoot!" Wynne cried and hunched over to try to get away from the literal fallout. With no cover to be found anywhere, she ran ahead intending to join forces with Mandy.

Two steps into her journey, she slammed nose-first into something tall, wide and leathery - two identical groans of pain and surprise were uttered.

Staggering backward, Wynne had a choice of either holding onto her hat or Blackie's collar. She chose the hat since she had only just found it after the bat-induced mess in the storage building. That left Blackie on the loose, and the German Shepherd responded by tearing ahead and wrapping her jaws around one of the leathery creature's legs.

"Whaddindawohhhhhhhhhh-rld?  Now whaddindahell's goin' on he'?" Wynne croaked as she could hear, but not see, Blackie growling and barking for all she was worth. Sounds of fabric being torn to shreds were clear and were soon followed by inhuman roars as the dog's teeth reached ghoul-flesh.

The creature responded to the biting attack by letting out another harsh, pained roar and swinging its long arms at the black dog. While the first attempt missed by a narrow margin, the return swing was a hard, direct strike onto Blackie's flank that sent her tumbling side-over-side - once she came to a dead stop up against the rock face, she shook her head and let out a pained whimper.

"Haw?!  Blackie?  Blackie?!  Awright, that does it!" Wynne roared at a volume that reached the same apocalyptic levels as the beast's own utterances. "Ain't nobodda be kickin' mah dawg 'round!  Ya dirteh, rotten, no-good sombitch!  Git ovah he' so Ah can teach ya some dang-blasted mannahs!"

The creature welcomed the challenge and responded by roaring and jumping forward. Its black eyes were better suited to the darkness in the mine gallery, so it had no problem locating Wynne and yanking her closer. Roaring with delight, it opened its ugly mouth and zeroed in on Wynne's exposed neck with its fangs ready to draw fresh, warm, prime quality Cowpoke blood.

"Hoooooah-boogehman!" Wynne cried as she tried to wrestle free of the creature's strong grip. When that didn't work, she slammed her left elbow across its throat to keep the fangs away which earned her a brief respite.

Because the left sleeve of the gunslinger-costume had been torn off by design, her skin came into contact with the beast's leathery hide - coarse and abrasive to the touch, it did in fact draw a few drops of blood which made the beast redouble its efforts.

Punching it had little effect; stomping her bootheel onto its feet and kneeing it wherever she could only seemed to make it angrier and more determined to add her to its collection. "Lawwwwr-die!  Ah sure could use a li'l bit o' help ovah he'!  Anehbodda?  Blackie?  Mandeh?  Sheriff Mandeh, where y'all at?!"

'I'm here, Wynne!  I have Brenda!'

"That sure is nih-ce an' all, but ain't nobodda got me 'cept this he' big-ass thing he'!  An' Ah ain't too sure Ah be likin' it!" Wynne cried. She gave up the tactic of punching and kneeing to reach for the small revolver, but the beast held on so tight she couldn't maneuver her hand down to the holster on her thigh. "Awwwwww-shoot, Ah'ma-bouddah git shish-ka-bobbed ovah he'!  Wheredahell all ya'll at?!"

The answer came when the flashlight app was turned on directly in the beast's face. Howling in surprise and pain, it flew back from its intended victim and pressed itself against the rock face not too far from where Blackie had ended up. Mandy continued her relentless attack on its light-sensitive eyes by making sure the cone was always pointed straight at it. Inch by inch, she forced it back toward the gallery's dead end.

A tearful, shaking Brenda Travers hobbled over to the dazed Blackie. Crouching down, she ran her hands across the black fur to feel for injuries. The dog responded by whimpering. "Oh, no… Wynne!"

'Haw, Brendah?  Zat you?' Wynne said from somewhere in the darkness.

"Yes!  Blackie's hurt… she needs you!"

'Sombitch!  Okeh, Ah' be comin…'

Five seconds later, Wynne's probing hands found Brenda's lower back instead of the black dog they had expected to find. "Whah, that sure wussen mah dawggie!  Sorreh 'bout that, there, Brendah… it be kinda dark in he' an' all. Where Blackie at?"

"Down on the ground, Wynne… you need to crouch down- yes, you have her!"

"Yuh… much obliged, Brendah. Lawrdie, Blackie… whazzamaddah'witcha, girl?  Eh?" - Blackie let out a woof that wasn't as strong as usual. "Them ribs o' yers?"

Wooof…

"Aw, okeh, ain't them ribs… shoot. Yer hind hip?"

Woof!

"Dang-blast that crittah all ta Mongoah-liah an' back," Wynne growled as she looked up in a hurry. "Them German Shepherds got weak hind joints alreddeh. It don't take much ta mess 'em up. That's it!  Now Ah'm realleh gonn' kick that sombitch'es ass around da moon!"

"I'll help Blackie back out, Wynne… kill that evil thing!" Brenda said in a shaky voice as she reached in under the large dog to lift her off the ground.

"Considah it deddah than a dodo bihhh-rd!" Wynne growled as she took off down the pitch-black mine gallery - all she had to navigate by was the bobbing light from Mandy's telephone that continued to be locked onto the horrific-looking creature's eyes.

---

Wynne caught up with Mandy and the creature at the far end of the gallery. The beast opened its hideous mouth wide and roared out loud as it understood it had its back against the wall. It spread out its long arms and hunched over like it was getting ready for another attack. The fearsome, inch-long claws on its hands reflected the harsh light as they moved back and forth.

The Cowpoke scrunched up her face in disgust at the sight. "Good shittt almighteh, that sombitch is jus' theeee ugliest crittah we evah done fought… it be even worse than that there fifteh-foot nekked garillah!  An' he sure wussen no Moh-na Leesa, nosirree!  Howdahell 'r we gonn' send that buh-tt ugleh thing back ta wherevah it done came from?"

"I'm still working on that part," Mandy said through clenched teeth. She held the telephone in her left hand while the right was wrapped around her service firearm. "How's Blackie?"

"Shitteh. We gonn' hafta call Doc Gibbs onna dubbel once we git outta this he' mess."

"Dammit!"

"If we onleh had some dog-gone dyh-noh-mite… we could blow up that there-"

Mandy let out a dark chuckle. "We could have an entire dynamite factory and it still wouldn't work."

"Haw… how come?"

"We don't have anything to light the fuse with!"

"Awwwwww-shittt!  Whah does it always, always, allll-ways hafta be this way?" Wynne cried and smacked a palm across her eyes. "Lawrdie… back when Ah came ta Goldsborah fer the first tih-me, yuh?  Ya know what Ah shoudda done?  Ah shoudda driven straight through the dang-blasted town without stoppin' fer nuttin' butta gas!"

"With your luck, you would've had a flat halfway up Main Street."

"Yuh… sure ain't no lie- Lawwwwwwwwr-die, he' it coh-mes!  Kill that thing!"

The beast roared and jumped forward with its arms stretched out ahead of it; it went straight for Wynne again before Mandy barged in between them.

"I'll clip its wings!" Mandy cried and fired two rounds at the creature's arms.

The first shot went wide and dug itself into the ceiling, but the second scored a direct hit. Howling, the creature bolted and raced back to the far end of the mine gallery; purple blood spewed from the wound and the limb grew weaker until it hung down its side like a limp rag.

A deep rumble started somewhere far above - the rumble grew in volume until it manifested itself in a tremor that sent sand, pebbles and other kinds of debris raining onto the floor. "Awwww-we be in a heap-a trubbel now!  A big ol' heap-a trubbel!" Wynne cried as she reached up to clamp down on her hat.

"Get out!  I'll cover you!"

"Ah ain't gittin' nowheah without y'all!  C'mon, Mandeh!  Let that sombitch eat some duh-st!"

The beast roared louder and louder to be heard over the imminent cave-in. When it realized it was a lost cause, it folded its cloak around itself and dove onto the ground as the familiar black bundle.

The cone of light from the smartphone had caught it all; as Mandy moved it down to keep track of their opponent, it illuminated the goblin box. The ropes and the canvas it had been wrapped in were gone which left the shiny, wooden box with the ornamental carvings in plain sight - the rusty latch that held the lid in place had shifted from its locked position which meant it wouldn't take more than a slight push to open it and thus release the destructive forces all over again.

"Look!" -- "Awww-shit, da box!" Mandy and Wynne cried as one.

"Naw, that be it… we done… we done in he'!" Wynne continued as she grabbed hold of Mandy's shoulders and dragged her away from the box. "Les'get the hell outtah he' while we still got them legs ta move on!"

They stormed through the gallery with the cone of light bobbing up and down like a ship caught in a gale; the Y-fork was soon reached and dealt with. At that point, daylight shone in from the mouth of the long corridor to act as a beacon to freedom.

The deep rumble behind Wynne and Mandy grew with exponential strength until it ended in a rolling crash that rivaled even the loudest clap of thunder. A wall of dust and dirt blasted through the gallery with the speed and inertia of a freight train.

One after the other, the twenty-inch-thick beams making up the support arches were reduced to toothpicks by the tidal wave of dirt - though a few remained standing, it wasn't enough to compensate for those that gave up the ghost. The entire mine gallery from the Y-fork and back to the beast's lair-like home collapsed and was soon buried under thousands of tons of dirt and rocks.

The second of the branches from the fork in the mine gallery remained standing, but the woodwork creaked and groaned from the tremors and the shift in the weight above it. A few pebbles and clumps of dirt fell from the ceiling, but it never grew worse than that. The dust that streamed into the second branch soon settled on the ground as a new layer that erased the few footprints that had been made there.

"Lookie there, Sheriff Mandeh!" Wynne cried at the top of her lungs as they raced along the final, outer section of the gallery. "Ah be seein' dayli'te! An' even bettah, Ah be seein' Blackie!  An' Brendah, too!  Yessir, they be waitin' fer us at that there entrance an' all. Ain't that sweet?"

Mandy was too busy coughing to answer in verbal terms, but she nodded and put a hand on Wynne's back to tell her they weren't safe yet so she needed to keep up the pace. Once they reached Brenda and Blackie, plenty of hugging and rubbing of fur was carried out by all involved.

"Aww, mah Blackie… Ah sure hope y'all ain't feelin' too much pain, li'l darlin'," Wynne said and crouched down next to her dog. When she ran her hands over the affected areas at the hind hips, she let out a sigh of relief when she couldn't feel anything out of the ordinary. Better yet, Blackie didn't whimper or moan too bad from the touch - in fact, she let out a faint, but positive, woof at the attention.

Brenda gave up trying to hold the ruined dress together and crouched down next to Wynne and Blackie. "How is she?  She didn't complain much when I carried her here…"

"Hard ta say, Brendah. Mebbe it wus jus' the shock o' bein' thumped or kicked or whutevah that sombitch done to 'er, but… naw, we bettah have Doc Gibbs do one o' them there examina-shuns off'er perdeh dog-gone soon. Been outside yet?"

"No…"

"How 'r y'all holdin' on?"

"It hasn't sunk in yet," Brenda said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Naw. Dontcha worreh, Brendah. Ah ain't gonn' leave ya fer a second. Y'all can come crah on mah shouldah aneh time y'all feel lack it. An' y'all can take that ta da bank."

A long sigh escaped Brenda; she reached up to try to sweep some of her hair out of her eyes. "Thank you… I'll probably take you up on your offer…"

"Yer welcome an' all. That's whut friends be fer. Now les'go hoah-me. I 'bout had it wi'this he' mooh-vie bizz."

Mandy had to cough a couple of times before she had cleared her throat of enough dust to speak: "I don't think your job here is quite done yet, Wynne…"

"Haw?!  Mo' monstahs?"

"No. We're being filmed," Mandy said and pointed at the mouth of the mine gallery where the director and the B-camera crew had the GyroCam waiting for anyone to come out.

"Ah don't bah-lieve it… shoot, them mooh-vie folks sure is a weird buncha people… Ah mean-"

Mandy let out a croaked laugh. "Here's your chance for your big John Wayne moment, Wynne!  Go on, milk it!"

"Yuh… yuh, Ah reckon y'all could be right, there, Sheriff Mandeh!  Yessirree, stand back an' watch me shih-ne!" Wynne said and drew the black revolver from the holster. She let out a grunt as she realized it was the wrong weapon for the era, so she drew the fake Colt instead and let Beatrice's revolver fall into the bottom of the holster.

Brenda stared at not only the shiny Peacemaker but at Wynne's undeniable presence. Though her chin had begun to tremble as the worst of the shock receded, she grabbed hold of the gunslinger's bloodied and torn jacket to stave off the physical and emotional reaction for as long as she could. "You've saved me!  Please take me home!" she said in a choked-up voice - though she added a wink, at least some of her statement had been heartfelt.

Wynne assumed an expression that was grim but heroic. Nodding, she wrapped her free arm around Brenda's waist and began to move ahead with firm steps.

A muted Woof! came from Blackie that meant 'Break a leg… I almost did,' before she hobbled over to Mandy so she wouldn't ruin the scene for her beloved owner.

---

There was no need for a smoke machine as Wynne and Brenda stepped out of the mine gallery - the sand and dust kicked up by the cave-in created plenty of atmosphere for the camera.

The reformed gunslinger who had redeemed her past crimes by saving the mayor's wife from a fate worse than death completed her metaphorical passage by moving out of the shadows and into the sunlight. Her selfless actions may or may not have saved her from taking the long, lonely walk to the gallows, but whatever the outcome, she had no regrets and expected no favors.

Stephen Markham, the movie's director, had problems keeping his neon-green Visit Venice Beach sun hat on out of sheer excitement as his GyroCam-operator made sure to capture all the best angles of the two filthy, bloody characters.

Wynne did her best Western Heroine impersonation as she squinted with grim determination at the supposed destruction behind the camera. When a round of applause broke out on cue, a roguish, lop-sided grin spread over her bruised features that was caught in glorious Technicolor by the GyroCam.

Stepping away from the mouth of the gallery, the gunslinger and the semi-fainted mayor's wife were greeted by a pair of ragged cowboys and a caballero dressed in black. The battered and bruised mayor hurried over to his rescued wife who seemed reluctant to let go of her savior. The gunslinger grinned again and twirled her Colt Peacemaker before she holstered it - or tried to, at least, since the small, black revolver took up too much space for the fake Peacemaker to fit.

Behind the camera, the director gestured at a crew member off to the side who held up a large boom mic. Once he was sure Wynne had seen and understood the implications, he moved his fingers in the age-old 'say something' gesture to show the actors should improvise some dialogue.

The elderly professional actor who played the mayor ran over to stand next to Brenda. "Oh, my darling wife!  I am so pleased to see you safe!" he said in his trademark distinguished tones. He took her hand and gave it a kiss.

The wife seemed less pleased on the whole but eventually tore herself away from the gunslinger. A heartbeat or two later, she let out a sob and ran back to cling to her savior's strong arm - she buried her face in the crook of Wynne's neck and shook her head in grief over the inevitable separation.

"G'wan, he needs ya," Wynne said in-character. "He's a good mah-n. Ah'm jus' an outlah-w… it woudden woh-rk."

The mayor's wife let out another sob before she nodded and wiped her filthy face on the back of a hand. She stood up on tip-toes to place a gentle kiss on the gunslinger's cheek before she let herself be taken away by her husband.

The veteran actor Roger Kennedy - who still wore the costume identifying him as the fictional town's sheriff - waited just out of frame. He kept looking at the director who waved his hands to such a degree it seemed he was conducting a silent symphony to keep the energy going.

When his cue came, Kennedy entered the shot and came over to stand next to Wynne. "Tex, I need a word with you," he said in the deep, authoritarian voice that TV audiences had been in love with for much of the 1980s and into the 1990s.

The gunslinger nodded before she turned to cast a longing glance at the woman she had rescued - in reality, Wynne looked at the director who signaled her that she should move to stage-right to get out of shot.

After Wynne and Roger Kennedy had gone out of frame, the director yelled "Cut!" and threw his sun hat high in the air. It landed with a bump ten feet away, but he made no attempt to retrieve it. "This is gold!  Solid gold, I'm telling you!  Gold!"

Wynne and Brenda were soon back in each other's arms though for different motivations than those of their characters. Brenda tried to hold it all in, but couldn't - a single look at Wynne made her tears come thick and fast. "Dammit," she croaked, "last night was bad enough… this tore chunks out of my soul…"

"Jus' let it out," Wynne said and rubbed her friend's back.

Mandy and Blackie soon joined the scene. Blackie continued to hobble along, but she appeared less bothered by it than earlier. Mandy took her portable radio off her belt and proceeded to blow half a quarry's worth of dust off it before she was able to press any of the keys. She offered Wynne a tired smile. "I'll see if I can get in touch with Barry and get him to alert Doctor Gibbs and a crisis counselor from HQ. I think there's going to be plenty of need for the latter here."

"Yuh… sounds lack a plan."

Brenda took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Could you please call my husband as well?  I really need him. He's staying at the Farnsworth Imperial in Cavanaugh Creek, but… oh… maybe he's checked out already… he's working at the Smithson and Burke IT Consulting-"

"Don't worry. I'll find him. I'm sure he'll race back as soon as we've talked," Mandy said with a smile.

More tears trickled down Brenda's cheeks, so she piped down and simply let her head rest against her taller friend's body.

"Dang, Ah need a beah… an' a showah… an' a beah… an' som'tin ta eat… an' a beah," Wynne said and smacked her lips in a comical fashion. "Didya know Ah ain't had a beah all day?"

"Poor you," Mandy said and became the second woman in ten minutes to place a kiss on Wynne's cheek. Grinning, she added a wink to remove some - but not all - of the sarcasm.

Wynne tried to maintain a look of pure outrage, but she was unable to hang onto it for more than a few seconds - even Brenda chuckled at the exchange. "Yuh, much obliged, darlin'… ooooh, Ah can heah one o' them there Dubbel-Zerahs callin' mah nah-me right now!"

"I think you've earned a Nineteen-Ten Special Brew. Or maybe one of Mr. Bradberry's favorite Midnight Velvet Stouts?" Mandy said while she continued to dust off her radio and give it a couple of strong shakes to get it to work.

"Naw, a Dubbel-Zerah be jus' whut the doctah ordah'ed. Lawrdie, ol' Ernie ain't nevah gonn' bah-lieve nuttin' o' this the next tih-me we tawk."

Before Mandy could answer, Stephen Markham hurried over to the group with the GyroCam in tow. "Miss Dougall?  Miss Dougall, we just need a couple of action close-ups before we can wrap this… Miss?"

"Whazzat?  Wotcha call me?  Mah nah-me's Wynne Donnah-hew, dag-nabbit…"

"Oh… pardon. The close-ups?"

"Yuh, okeh… Brendah, darlin'?  I jus' gotta go be a mooh-vie star a li'l mo' now," Wynne said and gave her friend's shoulder a squeeze. "Mebbe y'all could stay with Mandeh an' Blackie?  Prolleh ain't gonn' be long or nuttin'."

Smiling through tears, Brenda nodded and soon swapped one half of the Donohue-Jalinski family for the other - down on the ground, Blackie let out a happy Woof! and rubbed her black fur against Brenda's legs to show her own support.

---

Wynne, the director and the B-camera crew lined up against a neutral background to get the last of her exterior shots in the can. After the makeup artist Brittney had been by to perform a little magic on Wynne's dusty face, one of the staffers from the wardrobe trailer gave her costume a nudge here and a tuck there to match the continuity with her earlier scenes.

"All right," Stephen Markham said while he looked through his viewfinder, "Miss Doncaster, I want you to assume a cool, tough, sexy pose. Just move your eyes across the background from point A to point B."

"Donnah-hew, Mistah Directah. Donnah-hew," Wynne said in a low, dangerous drawl.

"Pardon. We're filming."

Wynne didn't even have to fake her annoyance; someone calling her by the wrong name had been at the top of her list of pet peeves ever since former sheriff Artie Rains had started calling her 'Dumb-ahue' or 'Dono-fool.'

After taking a deep breath to get back on track, she locked her eyes onto a point in the far distance and let them stay there. A couple of beats later, she pretended to follow something or someone that moved to her right.

"And cut… excellent. Thank you. All right," Stephen said and looked at the shot list on his clipboard. He moved his index finger down a couple of item points before he stopped to study the details. "We'll need Mr. Kennedy. Somebody call him. Oh… has anyone seen Alison Gardner recently?  Anyway, Miss Delmont, we need- Donohue, pardon… we need Mr. Kennedy and you in front of the log cabin. It's the follow-up to the scene where the sheriff said he needed a word…"

---

"And cut!  Wonderful!  We'll print that," Stephen Markham said a short ten minutes later when the next scene had been shot. The veteran Roger Kennedy offered Wynne a semi-grin before he shuffled off to his RV for a little mid-day pick-me-up.

After the director had checked his shot list, he stuffed the clipboard under his arm. "That's a wrap for Miss Donnamara- Donohue!  Give her a hand, everybody!"

"Fih-nalleh!" Wynne said and let out a deep sigh while she was showered in scattered applause from the crew.

After the director had conferred with the operators of the B-camera, he moved over to Wynne to shake her hand. "You were great. Our people will get in touch with your people. I'll see you in L.A. in three days' time."

"Uh-buh… say whut?!"

"To film your interior scenes, of course," the director said while he donned his sunglasses. "This fantastic event has turned the entire project upside down. What we have in the can from the location shoot far exceeds the quality of the material shot on the sound stages. Some can be salvaged or retooled, but… I'm going to lean so hard on the producers and the scriptwriter they'll have no choice but to redo the whole thing. Your character is now the movie's main focus."

Wynne just stood there all agape - she couldn't blink, breathe or even think. "Buh… but Ah sure as stink-on-shoot ain't no actah!  Ah'm jus' me, Wynne Donnah-hew!"

"You may not be an actor, but you're definitely a star!  Trust me. The camera loves you and I'll bet you'll get plenty of offers once this movie hits the shelves. Yes, I can see you as a Homicide detective… or a private investigator… or a battlefield nurse in a war drama… or we could build an entire series around your reformed gunslinger character. Like an avenging devil or something?  Maybe you could get a prequel where you're really evil and then you'll meet some kind of sidekick or positive role model who might show you there's more to life than killing!  The possibilities are endless if you play your cards right."

"Haw… but whut 'bout them real stars Roger Kennedeh an' Simon Wotshisnah-me?" Wynne said and pointed at the luxury RVs that were visible behind the compound. "Dontcha reckon they gonn' have a teeneh-tineh problem with some ama-chure comin' in ta steal their thundah an' all?"

Stephen waved his hand in dismissal. "Kennedy won't give a hoot who he's acting with as long as he's paid. DeLane will throw a world-class hissy fit and whine like a petulant baby on social media. That's all for the lawyers to deal with."

"Aw-goodeh… mo' lawyahs…"

"We have a deal, then. See you in three days, Miss Drummond- pardon, Donohue," Stephen Markham said and put out his hand for the traditional shaking.

"Yuh. Wynne Donnah-hew. Yuh," Wynne said and shook the offered hand.

Once the director had gone back to the tent containing all the technical equipment, Wynne found herself surrounded by Diego, Roscoe, Geoffrey Junior and Brenda. Mandy and Blackie were conspicuous by their absence, but Wynne didn't take it to heart.

"So?" Diego said.

Wynne threw her arms out wide in a large shrug. "So I be goin' ta Hollehwood ta film the rest o' the mooh-vie."

"You what?!" - The sombrero-wearing caballero leaned his head back and let out a belly laugh.

"I didden bah-lieve it, neithah. But nevah mind that now… Brendah, how 'r ya feelin', friend?" Wynne said and shuffled over to her neighbor - the answer to that question was obvious as Brenda's face was white as a sheet and a small tremble continued to rack her body.

A brief smile spread over Brenda's lips. "Crappy."

"I heah ya."

Roscoe and Geoffrey Junior looked at each other. "Do you think there might be a job for us in the movie, Wynne?" Roscoe said.

"Dunno. Ya need-a ask them fellas in charge, yuh?" Wynne said and pushed her hat back. "Ya realleh sure ya wanna go ta Californi-O with all them odd folks who be livin' out there?"

"Hell yeah!"

Plenty of barking and happy yapping cut through the air before Wynne could continue her conversation with the junior members of the Goldsboro Pool Association - the source of the barking and yapping was soon revealed to be Blackie and Goldie. The Golden Retriever's tail wiggled and waggled all over the place as she stormed ahead to get a good, old-fashioned fur-rubbing from her owner. Blackie ran a little slower, but still only arrived a few seconds later.

In the distance, Mandy strode back to the group as well. It seemed her regular portable radio was beyond repair since she used her personal smartphone to co-ordinate her deputies and get the latest from Barry as to the whereabouts of the backup from Barton City. The sheriff soon joined the group of friends from Goldsboro and the trailer park eight miles south of the bustling metropolis of all things supernatural and otherworldly.

"Mrs. Travers, your husband is on his way here. I caught him at the hotel," Mandy said; the use of the surname proved it was now official business for one of the senior law enforcement officers of the MacLean County Sheriff's Department. "Gentlemen, do any of you require medical attention?" she continued as she turned to the others.

Everybody shook their heads.

"Very well. In that case, I would like to ask if you would care to help Senior Deputy Gonzalez, Deputy Reilly and Deputy Woodward in keeping the peace?"

Everybody nodded; Diego took off his huge sombrero to look a little more sincere. His slicked-back hair had been ruffled by the hubbub, but it was nothing another squirt of gel couldn't cure. "Sheriff, we'll probably be called over to the wardrobe trailer at some point to change back to our regular clothes."

"Of course. Just inform the deputy you're working with so we can avoid any confusion. Thank you."

Everybody nodded all over again - then they shuffled off to find and aid the hard-working Rodolfo, Beatrice and Don Woodward.

Brenda stayed at Wynne's side at first, but she soon noticed the body language employed by the sheriff and The Last Original Cowpoke. "I'll play with Blackie and Goldie for a while," she said with a wink.

Wynne broke out in a grin as she shoved her hands into her rear pockets. "Sure thing, Brendah. Tawk ta ya latah, okeh?"

Once they were alone - or as alone as they could be in the middle of the busy film set where the various crews were hard at work striking some sets and restoring others that had been ruined in the great panic - Mandy moved over to her partner and snuck an arm around her waist. "What have you been up to since we last spoke?" she said in a warm, friendly voice.

"Aw, this an' that. Startin' a new care'ah in Hollehwood o' all places. Yuh, the directah fella done tole me ta come ta Los Angeles in three days' tih-me to shoot a buncha interiah scenes an' stuff."

"Whoa…"

"Y'all can say dat ag'in!"

Mandy broke out in a sly grin. She glanced to the left, then to the right, then to the left all over again. "In that case… I have a special request," she said for Wynne's ears only.

"Anehthin', darlin'!"

"May I have your autograph, please?" Mandy said and held up her notepad. The indispensable tool was soon opened to the first empty page; a ball point pen was produced from her breast pocket. "You know, so I can prove I knew you before you won your Academy Award?"

"Ohhhhh!  Whah, cert'inleh, Sheriff Mandeh… Ah be happeh ta oblige!" Wynne said and doodled her signature and the date on the page in the notepad. Beaming from ear to ear, she handed back the notepad that was soon closed and put back into the pocket it had come from. "Purr-haps ya'd lack a li'l kiss, too?"

"I'm too filthy to be kissed-"

"The hell ya iz!" Wynne said before she found the cleanest spot on Mandy's face to place a fair-sized smooch.

Mandy let out a long sigh; the cheeky grin faded from her face. "This was a bad one… honey, why do we always get mixed up in these crazy things?"

"I ain't got a clue, darlin'…"

Wynne and Mandy turned to look at their neighbor who continued to play with their dogs. Although nothing about Brenda Travers seemed out of the ordinary, they both knew that appearances could, and often did, deceive.

Mandy nodded and hooked her arm inside her partner's. "Brenda's going to need all the help the crisis counselor and her husband can give her. And all the help we can give her," she said as they took off in a slow stroll.

"I heah ya. Me an' y'all ha' done this he' shit so offen it don't even registah no mo', but fer a kindleh person lack Brendah, it gotta be gnawin' som'tin fierce on her heart an' soul an' all. Shoot, I 'member how bad it wus when I had mah first encountah with them frightenin' things out theah. That wus the deal wi'da lost soul from that there cemetareh… 'member I done tole ya 'bout that?"

"Yes-"

Sudden commotion from the other end of the film set sent a ripple of murmurs through the assembled extras and members of the film crew - some of the voices grew agitated and there was even a brief scream from someone out of sight.

"Sonova-" Mandy growled and reached for her firearm at once.

A tall, dark and dust-covered being burst through the crowd and came to a full stop in front of The Last Original Cowpoke and the Sheriff of Goldsboro.

Wynne just stood there staring in wide-eyed disbelief at the unexpected sight. When she realized just who it was she was looking at, she let out a loud belly laugh and a: "Whuddinda-wohhhhhhhhhhh-rld?  Whe'dahell y'all come from?!"

The six-foot-eight stuntman Rob 'The Undead Vampyre Ghoul' Steele huffed, puffed, wheezed and moaned so hard he could do nothing but shake his head. Though he was in excellent physical condition, he had to lean over and put his hands on his knees to get his breath back. "Rental car… broke down… at the… trailer… park… nobody… was… there…"

"Naw, friend, 'cos we all be he'!" Wynne said and tore off her cowboy hat to use it as a fan for the stuntman.

"So I… had to… run all… the way… down here…"

"Holeh shittt!  Y'all ran eight some-odd mih-les through the dang-blasted desurht ta get ta work?!  Merceh Sakes, son, that be commitment ta yer profes-shun right there… sure ain't no lie!"

Mandy shook her head at the typical misfortune that seemed to ambush anyone getting near Goldsboro, Nevada. A brief chuckle escaped her as she secured the little button that held her pistol in her holster.

"I… hope I'm… not in… trouble with… the director…" Rob said between wheezes.

Wynne and Mandy shared a long look - it was almost as if they debated via brain waves which of them should tell Rob the news that the day's filming was already over for the most part. The sheriff of Goldsboro was saved by the bell, or rather by howls, whines and crackles of static from her dust-affected radio when it came alive with a semi-garbled update from Rodolfo Gonzalez about the state of affairs. Winking at Wynne, she strode away to hear it from the senior deputy in person.

Wynne scratched her neck. "Friend… lemme tell ya a funneh storeh," she said as she wrapped her arm around the tall guy's broad shoulders. "We bettah find somewhe' ta sit first, tho'… c'mon, les'go ta the craft service booth. Mebbe them folks got one o' them there mineral watahs an' some joo-ceh fruit or som'tin fer y'all. Okeh?"

Rob Steele continued to huff and puff, but he broke out in a nod and shuffled off with The Last Original Cowpoke.

A few steps into their journey, Wynne looked over her shoulder and made eye contact with Brenda who was still playing with Blackie and Goldie. The trio was soon waved over so they could have a moment of quiet positivity after the fierce emotional storm they had all been through. "Yuh," Wynne said, "the day started out real fih-ne an' all, but then… Lawwww-rdie, ya ain't nevah gonn' bah-lieve what done happened next…"

*
*
THE END.

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