Chapter Fourteen

The sun shone upon the city of Tombstone.

It shone upon the charred husks of buildings, upon hastily-erected barricades. It peered down into the town's new collection of craters.

It shone on Polk Buckhorn where he stood in the main street, his mouth working silently as he stared uncomprehendingly at the devastation.

In the matter of weeks since he'd left Tombstone, the place had become a ghost town. This would've been bad enough if it had been merely an expression, and if literal ghosts hadn't been wandering the streets.

Bad days were nothing new to Buck. For as long as he could remember, his life had been more or less an unending parade of them. Today was something entirely new, and he didn't feel equipped to deal with it.

A tingle up his spine told him that one of the beings had approached him from behind. For a moment Buck was paralyzed, mentally contrasting the horrors of the unknown versus the no less considerable horrors of the known; having finally arrived at a decision, he finally spun around, his eyes wild.

The being was a man, or had been in life. He was now unsettlingly transparent, and was surrounded by an alarming nimbus of pale blue luminescence. He appeared to have been stabbed to death, as evidenced by the fact that the offending dagger was still lodged just below his collarbone. Buck gaped in horror; after a moment the specter finally spoke, its voice seeming to echo across the ages.

"Hi," chirped the ghost.

"Guh," replied Buck.

"I wonder if I could have a moment of your time?" wheedled the creature.

Buck managed a vaguely affirmative noise, and the wraith smiled warmly.

"You're too kind," it cooed. "I'm with CUE, you see."

Buck shook his head, and the ghost frowned.

"Citizens for Undead Equality," it offered.

Buck's jaw slackened, and the ghost shrugged.

"Well, it's all here, anyway."

The being pressed a leaflet into Buck's unresisting hands.

"Really, it's just a question of basic constitutional rights," the thing explained patiently. "I'm a citizen, aren't I? Born and died right here in the USA. So where's it say you have to be alive to vote? That's what I want to know."

"Um," Buck offered.

"Exactly!" enthused the creature. "It's like I'm always saying - just because you're six feet under, people think they can walk all over you."

The ghost chuckled, obviously pleased with itself. A moment later, it finally appeared to notice Buck's apparent distress; the thing arched a spectral eyebrow and leaned in for a closer look, much to Buck's dismay.

"You alright, pal?" asked the phantom. "You look terrible."

A thought had been jumping around in Buck's mind for quite some time, but he'd been having some difficulty in articulating it. At last, he managed.

"What the hell is going on?" he groaned pathetically.

The creature didn't immediately seem to understand the question; comprehension dawned a moment later, and the ghost laughed.

"What, all this?" it hooted. "Good lord, where've you been lately?"

Buck made a vague gesture, and the creature's attitude became somewhat more sympathetic.

"Man, this has got to be a shock for you," it consoled. "I don't know what rock you've been hiding under, but the last few weeks have been pretty busy here in civilization."

Buck stared dumbly around the city, and the ghost continued.

"Lot of folks got taken in the draft, of course. We're going to war, you hear about that?"

"Who with?" Buck ventured.

"Who else?" the creature shrugged. "Babylon. And about time, I say."

"Um," replied Buck.

"And then, of course, a couple of days back..." the creature indicated itself with a grin. "Hey presto, and look who's back from the grave. Couldn't tell you why, but you sure don't hear me compaining."

Buck attempted an accomodating chuckle; the result was fairly horrible, but the ghost seemed to be too caught up in his own narrative to notice.

"Me, I've been with the movement since my first day out of the grave," the thing said proudly. "We've been gaining a lot of speed, too; no shortage of recruits lately what with all the new blood in town, so to speak."

The being smiled proudly at the spectral horde wandering the streets, and a few waved gamely back. Buck swallowed hard.

"What happened?" he managed to ask.

The creature shrugged dismissively.

"What didn't?" it shrugged. "Plagues, famines, beasts with the heads of men."

The creature leaned in closer, eliciting another shudder from Buck.

"Frost giants," the wraith whispered conspiratorially.

"I have to go," Buck suddenly blurted.

The ghost arched its eyebrow again.

"Beg your pardon?"

Buck began backing away from the creature, his eyes boggling.

"Evans," he muttered. "I need to find Evans."

Buck turned and began stumbling back towards the city limits; Sparky had adamantly refused to come any farther. The ghost watched him go with a frown.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to make a donation?" it called after him.

There was no reply, and the creature gave a disapproving grumble.

"What's the world coming to," he muttered, "when people can't be bothered to take an interest?"

The sun continued to shine. A careful observer - preferably watching through a very well-shielded lens - might have noticed it growing almost imperceptibly larger over the course of the conversation.