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Bad Blood


By A.L. Brown


Copyright 2011 by A.L. Brown


Smashwords Edition


Smashwords Edition, License Notes


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I hate whiners. All I hear is complaints, gripes, what-ifs, and how-comes. People just can’t seem to wrap their heads around the fact that no matter how much talkin’ you do, it ain’t gonna make no difference anymore. Z-Day was months ago. The world is a mess. Only thing left to do is quit whining and start shooting--which I do pretty well, by the way.

But not as good as my little sister. Hanna’s the best shot in the family--and when you belong to a family who can trace blood back to more gunslingers than not--that’s something to brag about. I’ll tell ya straight, that kid can nail a dove in the air at a hundred yards or my name ain’t William Harrison Murdock. And that does happen to be what my folks named me, so don’t cross my little sis.

The A-BAR-T Ranch had been in the family for over a century, ever since one of my great-great-great-uncles took a likin’ to it and--eh, persuaded the old owners to sell it to him cheap. It’s a fine spread and about as remote as you can get anymore--but not remote enough. We still have problems with unwanted company. Some of the dumber zombies wander out this far. They don’t pose much of a worry. They just make good target practice in the mornings. Ah, there ain’t nothing like the smell of coffee and gunpowder in the morning.

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