Masters Cruel Land
by
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He didn't hear it or even feel it, at first. All Masters knew, was that he was face down and not able to move. He was numb. His upper body was filtering the cold morning air into his chest. When feeling finally seeped its way back into his senses, it felt like a ten-pound hornet stuffed its stinger into his spine. He tried desperately to move. Anything, a hand, his head, his legs. Nothing! Seconds whipped by. His mind raced for any escape. He knew it would be only moments before the horses hooves thundered to his side.
"What happened?" He muttered aloud, expecting a reply.
Sisco whinnied, adding some comfort to Masters' predicament. To late, he thought, as the rider drew reigns. Dust from the cold powdered Earth covered him. Making the task of breathing that much more difficult.
"Well... its been a long haul Masters. Now, I've got you right where I had your wife." A grizzly, lone voice barked out, in the empty landscape.
Thoughts scampered through Masters' mind like a rabbit through the brush. 'My wife?' He thought to himself. 'What could she have to do with this? She's been dead, for, four years now, unless...'
"Your mind must be all a flutter by now Masters." His words bit hard into the cool afternoon air. There was no hint of kindness in his voice. This man was cruel clear through.
Boots hit the ground near Masters' face, spitting dirt, and dust up his blood filled nostrils.
"Yes Masters, I am the one who raped and killed your wife. I'm here to kill you too! Well... I guess I've done that already. You know? You were damned hard to find, I must say!"
Helplessness, frustration, and utter un-adulterated insanity, raced through Masters' veins. The man who'd murdered his wife stood six-inches from his face and he was helpless. Rage was welling in his eyes, as he lay face down on the cold earth. Still, his body was un-willing to move. Though he tried with all his might.
Cold, harsh words crawled through Masters, like venom tracing its way through his veins to his heart. Whoever this man was, he hated Masters with a passion unlike he'd ever seen before. That was saying something! Masters had seen much hate and anger in his life. Along with more death than any man ought to see in, any ten lifetimes. Now, it was his turn to experience death first hand. A chill ran clear down his spine, and into his boots. Reality set in, he too, would die and sooner than planned.
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About the Book
In an uncertain time, after the Civil-war; two middle-aged men find themselves on a man-hunt meant for the young. A hunt which would carry them through mental and emotional rigors that test their core beliefs. Life and their individual understanding thereof would change forever. American values, and courage shine as they pursue a devil.
Creed Nottington and Marcus Taylor, meet up with Pete Mckay; after a brief dispute, they're off to catch a murderer. A murderer, the likes of which they had never heard-tell-of before. For that matter, few folks in the country, ever had to deal with venim of his ilk. They were hunting a man that would kill anything or anyone (even children), at anytime. A chase to the death, but, whose?
Part One of a trilogy. Creeds Trail -- coming soon!
About the Author
I always wanted to write a book. However, and for the most part, the reason I hadn't until now, is simple- I never had the time, or so I thought. Fact is: Until we make the time, none of us would ever have the time to do anything.
Through my devoted and loving soulmate, I found that life is meant to be lived, "while" planning it. Not the other way around. So, I found the time, at the urging of my wife; not only to write this book, but to complete it.
After over three-million miles of over-the-road truck driving, I decided to settle down to a slower pace, and enjoy some of the country I've traveled so extensively.
Story telling has been a fun part of my families history. My Grandmother could and did tell some really great tales. Half the time she was so convincing, heck, we couldn't tell the tale from the truth. Fact, was, most everything she told us was the truth, with a little extra, um... a little extra umf or zing. That tradition passed to my Father, who had been, and will always remain... my hero!