Excerpt: Out of Forgotten Ashes (PG13)

How but a little chuckle on a Sunday afternoon? Here's an excerpt from Out of Forgotten Ashes, coming out tomorrow morning from Champagne Books.

Set-up: Evan Jones is recovering from a serious injury. His brother, Dylan, is pleasantly surprised when Evan comes by his office in the Wells Fargo Station in Tombstone, and invites him to come along on an errand...

     They headed down the wooden sidewalk and soon arrived at the gun shop. Evan turned the doorknob and pushed in. “Hey, Clanc—”

     An explosion shook the knob from his hand and threw him backward.

     Dylan caught him, staggering. Glass rattled in window frames and boxes of ammo jumped from shelves to burst open, scattering bullets and shells across the floor. Rifles and shotguns teetered, rattled, and fell.

     “What the hell was that?” He helped his brother regain his balance, then darted around him into the shop. “Clancy! Clancy, where are ya?” He slipped on some buckshot, danced to regain his footing, and then stood in the center of the ruined room, looking about in confusion. “Clancy?”

     Men ran in from all directions toward the blast and crowded near the door. “Stay back,” Evan cautioned. “Let us see what’s going on. If you hear shots, get the Sheriff.” He entered the storefront, cautiously, shuffling his feet and cane to avoid sliding on loose bullets.

     Dylan gestured for his brother to toss him a gun. He pointed to a closed door at the back of the shop.

     Nodding, Evan complied, drew his other pistol and cocked the hammer, ready.

     Dylan did the same. They stepped forward—

     A hot blast of foul air nearly knocked them to their knees as the door wrenched open. A muddy shape of a man emerged from a fog of overwhelming stench. Two white orbs stared in shock from brownish-black muck that plastered him head to foot. He oozed into the shop, a melting mudslide.

     Dylan gagged, reached for his handkerchief and held it over his nose. “Clancy?”

     The gooey mass nodded.

     “Good God, man!” Evan choked. “What the hell?”

     “It blew up.” Clancy spat and wiped his face with a filthy hand. 

     “Damn thang blew up.”

     “What blew up?” The Jones brothers spoke together.

     “My turlet. My new inside turlet, that one what I got from the Sears and Roebuck.”

     Dylan gaped, coughing, trying not to breathe. Clancy stood forlorn, gobs of slime plopping and pooling around him on the floor.

     Evan recovered first and holstered his weapon. He burst out laughing, clapped his hand over his mouth and almost lost his balance, sliding with his cane.

     “Tain’t funny!” Clancy crossed his arms over his chest. “Jus’ finished my business on the crapper, pulled the chain—kaboom! Blew me clear into the wall.”

     “No shit?” Evan deadpanned and covered his mouth again.

     “Yeah. Shit everywhere.” Clancy glared at him. “You should see that room.”

    “I think not,” Evan replied, “the smell’s enough.”

     Dylan nodded. He tried to control himself but his shoulders shook with repressed laughter. “Eat a few too many beans for lunch, did ya?”

      “Get outta my shop,” Clancy snarled.

     “Aw c’mon, Clancy.” Dylan chuckled, carefully breathing through his mouth beneath the handkerchief. “Are you all right? I mean, are you hurt anywhere under all that?”

     Slop dribbled to the floor as Clancy shook his head slowly back and forth, trying not to splatter any more than he had to. “Naw, guess not.” He sighed. “Damn thang shot pieces all over, but none hit me that I kin tell. Here I think I’m real civilized, gettin’ this newfangled contraption before you two. Everybody knows you Joneses get new gadgets fast. Anyway, I hooked it into that big ol’ metal water tank Frank Stolski sold me. He even helped me bury it out back there. Real work, getting that in, packed it good and tight. Welded the lid solid, too.”

     “You welded—?” Evan asked. “Didn’t leave a vent?”

     “A what? Hell no, din’t want no leaks.”

     “Needs ventilation,” Dylan said, then covered his nose and mouth again.

     “Like the mines, Clancy,” his brother said.

     Clancy’s eyes grew wide, larger expanses of white in streaks of brown. “I ain’t never worked no mine, but I heard about them gases down there. Mine gases blew my turlet?”

     “No, gases built up in that metal tank,” Evan replied. “All that, uh, waste decomposes and makes gases. Been going on in this heat and you didn’t allow for a vent. You welded the tank and then buried it, so when the vapors built up—”

     “Pressure built inside.” Dylan nodded. “The metal couldn’t rupture underground, packed in tight. When you pulled the chain, the pipe to the tank opened—

     “—and shot everything out like a cannon,” the brothers finished in unison.

     “Aw, hell,” Clancy said. “Ain’t that my luck?” He looked at the Joneses, head tilted. “You go ahead and take what you came in fer, boys. Pay me later. I’m going out back to lay under the pump for an hour.”

     Dylan helped Evan and they backed out of the shop...They gulped lungfuls of gritty late afternoon air for long minutes before heading to the Crystal Palace Saloon...
     “So how’s Owen doing?” Dylan asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
     Evan savored his beer before replying. “He’s a hard worker. He’s finishing the fence repairs this afternoon, glad of the pay.”
     “There alone with your wife.”
     “And just what is that supposed to mean?”
     Dylan turned to face his younger brother. “How much do you really know of him? He shows up out of nowhere. No letter asking afore, nothing with him but a change of clothes.”
     Evan blinked with surprise. “Don’t you remember how he pulled me out of that fire? He saved my life. I can trust him.”
     “That was fifteen years ago, and a tragedy all around. Times, people change. You said Reyna’s been skittish this week. Look you, she’s good reason to be jumpy after what happened to her in Sabino Canyon.” Dylan raised his brows and held his brother’s gaze for some time, remembering his sister-in-law’s ordeal at the hands of the vicious outlaw Frank Howe. It had been three years, but the nightmare still occasionally beset his sleep. He could only imagine what bad dreams plagued Reyna—and Evan.

Note: This scene is based on true newspaper accounts.  "Turlets" exploded far more often that you'd think! Especially when there was no public sewage system and information about septic tanks wasn't widely available.  Certainly makes you appreciate modern plumbing, doesn't it? 

~Jude