Short Story: Gunfyre



“Oh yeah, she walks like a gunslinger
Laughs through the shots
Got some lead from the hips
She’s so hot, she can’t stop*”

There were many skills that the mysterious masked woman who currently claimed residence in Dust Town had possessed over the years. One that served her best over time and her long lifespan was that of chameleon. To fit into a community seamlessly, unmarked as an outsider, could literally mean the difference between life and death, especially in the current society. 

Over time, the woman warrior had rebranded herself as needed to survive. Her core identity remained the same as both genetics and training had defined it. However, the outer shell or, in her current incarnation, leather and Kevlar armor and metal full face mask, was subject to change depending upon the societal climate. 

Age had given sharper definition to some parts of her skillset and subtly blunted others. Language, a perpetually fluid skill, changed and adapted to the needs that she placed upon it, mainly to conceal her past. Marksmanship, a formerly neglected ability due to her reliance upon others seemingly more popular in the past, became crucial to her survival in a land where life’s blood casually stained the paths taken on a regular basis. 

“Now you’ve seen the line on the glory
From the heart of the flame
From the, I don’t know a story
But your song never changed*”

The masked woman did not cling to the past, to memories of the world as it was before the fall. Before the zombies came. Let others constantly wallow in self-pity, wailing about what they lost when the magic died. She would rise above, and move forward, always forward. 

One part of her past, a small piece of silver, was always kept close to the heart in more ways than one. The reason was not spoken of. Any who learned of the relic’s existence speedily, efficiently and wetly disappeared into her past. 

Eventually forward progress brought her to the Battlegrounds, where the armored warrior known from then on as Frost could test her mettle against others of similar caliber and mentality. She obeyed the curfew and the law as enforced by the Rhydin Defense League like the others who participated. 

But, unlike the rest of the unwashed masses, Frost would never speak the name of Drakhar, much less praise him. 

“Shoot, shoot, she walks like a gunslinger
Shoot, shoot, oh, will I see your shots?
Shoot, shoot, she walks like a gunslinger
Shoot, shoot oh, she laughs, laughs, she laughs*”


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