It seems
only fitting that I should be a whole week late in blogging about the release
of Zelmer Pulp’s new Western collection. FIVE BROKEN WINCHESTERS has been
subject to a metric ton of delays, at one time I actually thought we might
never get there. But thanks largely to the efforts of Brian Panowich, Chuck
Regan and stand up dude, Lincoln Crisler we now have a book—a damn good one too—featuring seven tales of the Weird
and indeed the Wild West, written by the Zelmer Pulp team and special guests Ron Earl
Phillips and Heath Lowrance.
Most of you
will know Ron Earl Phillips as the head honcho of Shotgun Honey and The Big
Adios. Ron has published all of the Zelmer crew at one time or another and we are
delighted to have his traditional western story, ‘The Last Shot’ in the
collection.
Heath
Lowrance is another guy who needs no introduction, which is a little ironic
seeing as he wrote the one for FIVE BROKEN WINCHESTERS. Heath also contributed
a fantastic flash story featuring his hard-eyed righter of
wrongs and legend of the Weird West, Hawthorne.
This edition also features killer tales from the Zelmer Pulp entertainment collective:
Isaac Kirkman, Ryan Sayles, Brian ‘Yeti Chop’ Panowich and Chuck Regan, who also
painted the cover and once again humbled us with both his artistic and his sexual...err, I mean literary prowess.
My humble contribution,
‘The Guns of Justice’ sees the debut of my scarred bounty hunting heroine,
Justice McCann. Here’s a little taster to hopefully whet you appetite and
loosen you wallet.
The Jailhouse door banged open,
bringing down dust from the rafters and toppling the stack of papers on Wade
Pollock’s desk.
“Goddammit!” Wade said, shading his eyes against the
bright spring sunshine that invaded his office.
A
man stood in the doorway, he was nearly as wide as he was tall and looked about
ready to chew up iron and shit out nails. Wade knew him right off; his picture
was pinned up across from his desk. The wanted poster showed a buzzard-eyed
killer with a huge beard. It was a good likeness. But Cory Johnson could only
truly be appreciated by seeing him in the flesh. Wade twisted in his seat,
reaching for the gun belt that hung on the back of his chair.
“Where’s
the sheriff?”
The
female voice stopped Wade cold, his gun half clear of its holster. There was a
dull smack as wood met meat and Johnson collapsed to his knees with a grunt.
Behind him stood a girl—or at least something close to a girl—holding an old
Baker side-by-side, stock first.
“You’re
lookin’ at him,” Wade said continuing to pull his piece in spite of the fact
that he could now see Johnson’s hands were tightly bound, or maybe because of
it.
The
girl leaned and spat tobacco juice into the coffee can by the door. It gave
Wade a good look at her face and the terrible scars she carried there.
“What
happened to Miller?” she asked.
“Been
dead about a month, I’m running things around here now. Wade Pollock’s the
name.”
“In
that case, this here belongs to you,” she said flatting Johnson completely with
a well-aimed kick to his kidneys.
Wade
looked from the gasping Cory Johnson to the girl and then to the crowd that had
gathered in the street outside. “You best come in then, and close the door,
that is unless you want the whole damn town knowing our business.”
***
FIVE BROKEN WINCHESTERS is available right now for your high-fluting Kindle machine and we
are currently engaged in large scale deforestation to bring you a dead tree
version by the end of the week. So have and it, or as we say here at Zelmer Pulp, Hammer Down!
