Space Western Novels & Stories

From the west. Silas's voice: "Western passes. Deep western mountain approaches." A pause that had the quality of Silas confirming something before he said it. "It's not the Iron-Thorn. The frequency pattern is different — lighter, faster, individual signatures rather than formation density." Another pause. "I count several hundred individual wolves moving at speed." "The remaining Western Plains vanguards," Garrett said. "Has to be," Xander said. "They're breaking formation march." "They're running," Silas said. "The pattern is consistent with full-velocity overland movement. They dropped the march formation." He paused. "They're racing."

He seemed tough, but he sure as hell seemed to know how to control a room. “But here’s the thing, boys,” he said. “There are those out there that want what we fucking got. The Mezcals been pushing up from Mexico, the Rebels been fucking with our western territory for months now, and I’ve heard whispers of the Snake Spit coming in from Dallas.” More murmurs, but this time angry, annoyed. I looked at Jaguar and he gave me a small smile. “More to us than just biker jerks, eh?” he said softly.