Chapter 117: The Lonesome Drifter

As Six and the crew were driving north on Highway 95, passing El Dorado Gas & Service, they spotted movement near the Sunset Sarsaparilla billboard. A small camp was set up along the east side of the El Dorado Dry Lake, but something went terribly wrong.

A massive, crazed Yao Guai was rampaging through the camp, its claws tearing into a lone figure desperately trying to fend it off. The man looked eerily familiar—like The Lonesome Drifter himself. Blood stained the ground as he struggled beneath the beast’s crushing weight.

Six immediately made Raul bring the War Bus to a screeching halt, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. The monstrous Yao Guai had already torn through the camp, leaving wreckage and bodies in its wake.

Rebecca didn’t hesitate.

"I got the turrets!"

She called, scrambling up to the mounted guns.

"Negative, hold them for now."

Six barked.

"Too risky. Might hit the guy."

"Boone, take the shot if you’ve got it!"

Boone reached for his Varis Rifle, stepping out of the bus in one fluid motion. The scope locked onto the Yao Guai’s snarling head as it reared back to finish off the wounded man.

Boom!

The shot roar echoed across the dry lake as a 14.5×114mm piercing round tore through the mutated bear’s skull, sending blood and brain matter splattering across the dirt. The beast slumped to the ground in a twitching heap.

Rebecca whistled.

"Holy shit, that was a clean shot, choom."

With a jerk of the wheel, Raul veered the War Bus off the highway, sending snow and gravel flying as he skidded to a stop.

Before anyone else could move, Six was already moving toward the injured man, rifle slung over his shoulder. As he knelt beside him, the resemblance to The Lonesome Drifter was uncanny—same weathered features, same cowboy getup.

He groaned, rolling onto his back, clutching his side where deep claw marks ran across his torso. His revolver lay just out of reach.

"You alive?"

Six asked, already pulling out a stimpak.

The man groaned, spitting out blood.

"Damn well feel dead. But I guess not."

His voice was strained, weak.

"Hold still."

Six muttered, jabbing the stimpak into his chest. The man sucked in a sharp breath as the healing agents took effect.

Rebecca jogged up, hands on her hips.

"Alright, cowboy number 2, what the hell are you doing all the way out here?"

He coughed in confusion

"Cowboy number 2?"

"Yeah, cuz my husband the Marlboro Man-looking choom here is Cowboy number 1, so your Cowboy-looking ass is 2.

The man gave a pained chuckle.

"Ok. Well, I... I was just passing through. Stopped for the night, and then that damn thing came outta nowhere."

Six glanced around at the ruined camp. Supplies were scattered, a fire was still smoldering, and a couple of bodies lay motionless.

"Anyone else with you?"

The drifter shook his head, then winced.

"No. Just me. Name’s Jesse. Jesse Kincaid."

Six raised an eyebrow.

"Jesse, huh?"

Six raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, Jesse. You’re lucky we came by."

He pulled a medex from his belt and jammed it into Jesse’s arm. The man hissed as the medicine worked its magic.

The drifter—Jesse—grinned despite his pain.

"Yeah. And I appreciate the save, partner. Ain’t every day someone drops a damn Yao Guai with a single shot."

Six stood, offering him a hand.

"Let’s get you patched up.

Rebecca crouched down, smirking.

"So, cowboy, what the hell are you doing way out here, getting your ass kicked?"

Jesse winced but chuckled.

"That’s a long story."

Rebecca rolled her eyes.

"Great. Another cowboy mystery. Just what we needed."

Six smirked.

"Let’s get him to the bus. I wanna hear this story."

Raul let out a dry chuckle from where he leaned against the War Bus.

"Hope this one don’t end with ghosts or some old-world bullshit."

Six smirked, glancing between Jesse and the ruined camp. Something about this guy felt off—not in a bad way, but like he had more to him than he was letting on.

"Let’s get him to the bus. I wanna hear this story."

Jesse sighed, letting Six and Boone help him up. As they moved, he gave one last look at the corpses littering his camp, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah... reckon it’s about time I told someone."

As Jesse settled into one of the reinforced seats inside the War Bus, Raul started the engine back up, rolling them north along Highway 95. The inside of the vehicle was a fortress—reinforced armor plating, mounted turrets, and a stash of weapons ready for any ambush. Jesse let out a low whistle, impressed.

"Damn fine ride y’all got here."

Rebecca plopped down across from him, arms crossed.

"Yeah, yeah, we know it’s cool. Now spill it, cowboy."

Jesse exhaled slowly, rubbing his side where the stimpak and Med-X were working their magic. He looked up at Six.

"You ever hear of a man named Johnny Kincaid?"

Six furrowed his brows. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it immediately. Boone, however, stiffened slightly.

"Kincaid... the outlaw?"

Boone asked.

Jesse nodded.

"Yeah. That was my old man."

Rebecca’s eyes widened slightly.

"Wait, wait, hold up choom. Your dad was Johnny Kincaid? The same Johnny Kincaid that used to ride with the Van Graffs before they turned on him?"

Jesse gave a humorless chuckle.

"The very same."

Six leaned back, arms crossed.

"Alright, you got my attention now. What happened to him?"

Jesse sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"He got set up. The Van Graffs used him to clear out some rivals, then decided he was too much of a liability. They framed him for some slaughter in Freeside, put a bounty on his head so big that every gunman from here to the Divide came after him."

Boone grunted.

"And let me guess—he didn’t make it."

Jesse shook his head.

"No. But he didn’t go down easy. He took a dozen bounty hunters with him before they finally put him in the dirt. I was just a kid when it happened."

His fingers drummed against his knee.

"Since then, I’ve been trying to track down the bastards who sold him out."

Rebecca whistled.

"Damn. You’re on a straight-up revenge quest, huh?"

Jesse smirked, but there was no humor in it.

"Something like that."

Six studied him for a moment before nodding.

"And that Yao Guai back there? That have anything to do with your quest for vengeance?"

Jesse exhaled sharply.

"I think someone sent it after me."

Raul snorted.

"You saying someone trained a damn Yao Guai and sicced it on you? That’s a new one."

Jesse shook his head.

"Not trained. Drugged. That thing was pumped full of something. Its eyes were bloodshot, foam at the mouth... I’ve seen something like it before. The Van Graffs were experimenting with chems on wildlife. Trying to make living weapons."

Boone’s expression darkened.

"If they’re still doing that, it’s a problem."

Six nodded.

"More than a problem. If someone out there is using chemed-up beasts as assassins, we need to find out who."

Jesse looked at him, curious.

"You saying you’re interested in helping?"

Six smirked.

"I don’t like loose ends. And I sure as hell don’t like the Van Graffs."

Jesse grinned.

"Then I reckon we might be able to help each other out."

Rebecca cracked her knuckles.

"Hell yeah. Time to bust some heads."

Raul sighed.

"Man, I just fixed this ride. Now we’re getting into another shootout?"

Six chuckled.

"You know us, Raul. Trouble finds us one way or another."

As the War Bus rumbled north, a new objective settled in Six’s mind. The Van Graffs had been a problem in the Mojave for too long. Maybe it was time someone reminded them they weren’t untouchable.