Beecher's Hope.

The Undead John Marston Surveyed his surroundings. He recognised the tree he turned to the grave he had risen out of. He heard groaning coming from nearby. He turned to see to the grave to his immediate right. Out of the ground rose his dead wife, Abigail. Pain seemed to stake John through the heart. This was the second time his wife had been this way. She moved towards him in a very threatening way. John never wanted to hurt his wife but it seemed he may have no choice.

Instinctively he reached for his side to draw a gun only to find he was without a holster. He had no weapons of any kind. He would have to make a run for it. John began to run with his Undead wife not far behind. He ran towards the barn he once stored his lasso in. Noticing it was not there he decided he had to improvise. He looked around the barn. He saw a long chain hanging from the rafters, quickly climbing the ladder that led up he left Abigail angrily roaring from the ground below, grabbing the chain he jumped to the ground and wrapped it tightly around his wife's body.

John looked at her. She wasn't badly decayed, and was relatively fresh compared to some of the Undead John had encountered. On closer inspection she didn't seem as angry, in fact she seemed to have a look of longing in her eyes as she looked at John. John felt as though he should release her, but decided against it. He didn't want his wife to suffer this fate a second time. He took a sickle from the wall. He looked at his wife and seemed to attempt to groan an apology. He ran the blade across the back of her neck severing her spine. Abigail went limp. John shook her slightly. He picked up her dead body and a shovel then headed back towards where her grave was on the hill, to rebury her.

After he finished he looked around. The area was much quieter than it had been the last time he had to deal with the Undead plague. John headed back towards the house. The doors were locked, looking through the window Johns saw that the house was deserted, John moved to the side to try a different door. Settling for a window that had been left open slightly, John climbed into the house locking the window behind him to stop any unwanted company. John headed towards the ladder that led into the small Room above the kitchen. He climbed up, and there sat the chest he had left in case this incident had ever occurred again. He opened the chest and inspected it to find it exactly the way he had left it. Inside there was a long back coat which was tattered and frayed, And a large hat with a feather form a pheasant sticking out from one side, and several weapons among which were two rifles, one of which he knew fired explosive rounds, several tomahawks, dynamite, several bottles of a greenish yellow liquid which he knew worked well as bait for the Undead, and at the bottom there was a short black blunderbuss, his single most effective weapon against the hordes of the Undead. Also there was a small box, John opened it to reveal to large revolvers, much larger and much heavier than a standard revolver, the barrels were wider in diameter, and the chambers seemed to house twelve bullets, and there was a large amount of ammunition.

After loading his weapons into various holsters he jumped the short distance, to the ground he decided to check if the guns he kept in his room were still there. The cabinet that hung from his wall lay empty bar a few stray rounds of ammunition, Before he left, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His lips had rotted away and he was missing several teeth, his nose was also missing, the scars on his right cheek seemed to have opened, and several worms had taken refuge in his eye socket, and his skin was distinctively green. He would need to hide his appearance.

Going to a drawer he found an old black bandana which he promptly wrapped over his mouth. He also found an old eye patch which his son once used when he played pirates. John began to worry once he thought about his son, was he all right? He would need to find him.

He headed out to try and find a horse, looking around he saw nothing, except an old stage coach he had purchased before his death, Suddenly John suddenly remembered he rose his fingers to his mouth and attempted to whistle, however he was able to due to the absence of lips. He let out a loud high pitched roar in frustration, and almost immediately there was an echoing sound of galloping. John turned to see the, four horses heading towards him. The Four Horses of the Apocalypse; Pestilence, Famine, War and Death.

The horses stopped mere inches from where John stood, He surveyed the form of each horse. He then turned to the Stagecoach. From beneath his bandana, and despite having no lips, he seemed to smile.

Mercer Station

The Undead seemed to be fewer in numbers than near the town, Jack looked out over the landscape, and seen only a few Undead wandering towards the train, deciding not to take the risk of letting them get close enough, he drew his gun and no quicker than it was out of the holster the they roaming Undead fell to the ground. He holstered his gun and looked towards the stagecoaches that were heading towards the fort to keep the people safe, Jack mounted his horse and spurred his horse in the same direction.

En route there seemed to be more Undead in the area, and it seemed worse around the fort. There were men on the walls shooting at the Undead, in order to keep a clear path to the gate. The stagecoaches charged towards the open gate, knocking down any of the Undead that were in its path. Jack followed quickly in its wake, the gates of the fort closing narrowly, behind him.

Jack hitched his horse at a post and looked around; many people were now within the bounds of the fort, unloading supplies from the stagecoaches and carts that had arrived, Jack headed over to the one of the townspeople, to find out why the town was so well prepared for this disaster.

"Excuse me ma'am?" he started, the young woman looked towards Jack. She was about his age maybe a year younger, she had long incredibly dark brown hair, almost porcelain coloured skin, her lips naturally red, and her eyes seemed to be a mix of grey, blue and green. "I uh was just wondering if you know why the town is so well prepared for this situation."

The young woman spoke with a soft and gentle voice "Well, after the last time this happened last time Marshall Johnson set up a plan in case it happened again, stocks of food and ammunition were prepared and left ready in stagecoaches and carts, by the train station and here, for the event arising again. I'm sorry I don't believe we've ever met, I'm Cathy Ward." She extended an arm to Jack.

"Jack Marston." Jack said extending his arm, and shaking her hand.

"Jack Marston…The bounty hunter?" she asked.

"Yes miss." Jack looked around "If you don't mind Miss Ward, I'm going to look around and see if there's anything that I can help around here with."

"Of course, I just hope this doesn't last like it did before." She turned and walked away towards a stage coach that was being unloaded.

Jack headed up the stairs to the top of the wall and proceeded to where several men were shooting at the Undead horde that had gathered below. "Don't waste your bullets boys, you might need them." Jack said coming along side one of them. The man ceased shooting, and merely nodded he looked shaken and very scared. Jack proceeded along the wall he came a man slouched over at the wall, he smelled of alcohol and sat unmoving, he was untidy, unshaven and his clothes were very dirty, Jack decided to ignore him, for now at least.

Jack looked into one of the rooms and seen several people in beds some were crying, some lay in an attempt to rest. Jack proceeded on, he bumped into someone and knocked them over. "Sorry sir, I wasn't paying attention…" Jack stopped speaking, the man before him was one he had not seen in nearly ten years, and did not expect to see him at all. "Javier?"

Javier Escuella sat on the ground in front of Jack a look of panic on his face. Jack grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and dragged him towards the wall before leaning Javier over the wall, and pointing a gun at his head. "Wait please doesn't kill me Jack, please."

"Why are you still alive? You were supposed to hang three years ago. Is it because of you my Pa is dead, did they kill him because you escaped? Answer me!" Jack cocked the hammer of his pistol and placed the barrel on the bridge of Javier's nose.

"No, they didn't kill me, I was left alive. I don't know why but I was told that a trade was made, my life was traded for something by someone on the outside." Javier was on the verge of tears.

Jack spun Javier and threw him against a large crate. Jack kept his gun pointed steadfast at him; Jack's finger was firmly on the trigger undecided as to whether or not he was going to shoot him but a deep voice caught Jack's attention. "Do not do it my friend. You may need the bullet later."

Jack turned to see an asian man dressed in a dark blue shirt, and duster, His hair was a black and sleek, he looked to be in his late 20s. Despite his ethnicity his accent sounded American. Jack lowered his gun and began to walk away. "It's good to see you again Javier." Jack said in a fairly Unconvincing tone. He walked on the other man following in his wake.

"You made the right decision my friend. It will work to your favour later." The man said.

"Sorry but, who the hell are you?" Jacked replied annoyed.

"My name is Riain Nakamura; it is a pleasure to meet you Jack Marston."

Jack didn't even bother to ask how this man knew his name. He merely looked over the walls to see the masses of the Undead gathering below.