About Queer Weird West Tales:
Authors include: Julie Bozza, J.A. Bryson, Dannye Chase, S.E. Denton, Miguel Flores, Adele Gardner, Roy Gray, KC Grifant, Peter Hackney, Bryn Hammond, Narrelle M Harris, Justin Warren Jackson, Toshiya Kamei, Catherine Lundoff, Bunny McFadden, Angus McIntyre, Atlin Merrick, Eleanor Musgrove, Jennifer Lee Rossman, Lauren Scharhag, Sara L. Uckelman, and Dawn Vogel.
Excerpt:
from “No Mercy Down in the Mine” by Lauren Scharhag.
That evening, Eddie and the ladies fed me another hot meal they could scarce afford, then shooed me off to bed. Tomorrow, we’d do Phase One of the plan. If we succeeded, we’d go on to Phase Two. If not, welp, the remaining citizens of Mobley were probably shit outta luck.
Meantime, I wondered, what if those things widened their range? How far could they travel, how fast could they breed? I thought about the path that brung me here. I’d bailed on Emmett Sunday before last. My fourth day in the wastes was when my compass had gone squirrely, Thursday. The same day the miners had blown that chamber open. That couldn’t be coincidence, could it?
And there was another question—somehow, I ended up in Mobley. Sure, I’d been half-dead, but ain’t no way to reach Mobley from the wastes without crossing the river. So how come I didn’t remember crossing it?
A door—not like no door any of us has ever seen, and it don’t lead nowhere that any of us knows. If a door to some other place could just open up in a cave like that, what did that mean about the nature of things?
A lamp stood by the bed and I’d turned it down while I thunk my thoughts. Then a quiet knock came at the door. “Come in,” I called.
It opened a crack. “Miss Doyle?”
I sat up and tipped an imaginary hat. “Miss Joan.”
She came into the room and closed the door. “Joanie.”
“Joanie. You may as well call me Sally. Anything else would be strange, seeing as how you’ve seen me in my skivvies.”
She sat down. “It was me who brung you inside, me and Slow Tom. I knowed right away it was you. I seen you before, back when you and the Sturges boys robbed the Huarache Bank. We was staying at the crib across the street. Mama told me to get down, but I wanted to see. You took out three deputies without batting an eye, and you scarcely older than I was! I wanted to be just like you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
“I even stole one of your wanted posters. Kept it till it fell apart.”
“You did not!”
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” She pulled a flask from her apron pocket, unscrewed the cap, and offered it to me.
I raised my eyebrows. “Raidin’ the stores?”
“No, this was mine from before. I was saving it for in case we got outta here. But I think I’d rather share it with you now.”
I accepted it and took a swig.
When she smiled, I saw that her lips were full and rosy, her teeth white and even. She had one of those figures I wouldn’t have minded having myself if my life were a different one—soft and generous, with a high bosom and wide hips. (Whereas I’m all gristle.) Guess I’ll just have to settle for admiring women who do.
“This is my room—well, I share it with Carmen, Ruby, and Maude.” Joanie looked over at the second bed. “But this here’s the bed I usually sleep in.”
I scootched over and turned the blanket down. “Well, get on in, darlin’.”
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About Julie Bozza:
Julie Bozza is an Aussie-Anglo hybrid empowered by writing, fuelled by espresso, calmed by knitting, overexcited by photography, and madly in love with Amy Adams and John Keats.
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