text: [Themes: horror, western, zombie, female protagonist, horror]
  
  Nevada Territory, March 2, 1861
  
  Bullshit, California trail, Hell! Damn wheel stuck, Damn Puta caravan!
  
  You have never imagined when you still in California, that Nevada's territory in Utah, the brand new territory created; it has extensively publicized as a supposedly big desert mining territory jammed with silver. However, Nevada starts coming from the California Trail, in a damn muddy area near the Truckee River, away from the hand of the Damn lord.
  
  Your mind can't stop thinking about the tricky situation you are right now:
  I should be on the damn new Lake's Crossing toll bridge! Any hope of reaching Virginia city in a couple of days has faded away in a jumbled nightmare.
  
  How could I predict that I would end up in an area full of cougars, trouts and Indians on the wilderness California trail!
  
  Neither the sweet scent of pine trees in the late winter nor the murmur of the nearby river does anything to forget the humidity or the fact of being in the damn middle of nowhere, far away from all civilization.
  
  You begin to insult your father and the generations of thieves and scammers in your family from beyond the ocean.
  
  Remembering what he told you before your escape from Boston police: "A war is about to start, you should emigrate to California or Utah, with the mines just opened there is a lot of easy money to get for an honest snake oil saleswoman."
  
  You sigh with the irony, trying to guess what is wrong: [i]Honesty. No one in my family has ever done anything legal, being the daughter of a Mexican whore and an Irish smuggler with whiskey instead of blood in his sinner's veins. Something is wrong, I know it. My thief's sixth sense never fails.[/i]
  
  Without a doubt, this trip did not start as you dreamed. you sigh as you look at the damn wagon in the mud. The irony...
  
  I had to leave Boston, the police wanted to hang me in front of the Paul Revere statue. There was only one way to escape my destiny. The sea and the wild west. There, I will be free. If I get there that's it.
  
  [Author's Note: My first entry for the Endmaster IS contest. ADULT GAME DON'T PLAY IT IF YOU ARE A MINOR OR EASY TO TRIGGER.]
  
  > say "I'm tired, I'm going to sit down for a while"
  PRELUDE Travel Diary
  
  Day 1 on this travel
  
  I have found this brand new diary with silver embroidery hardcover. I feel like one those snob British ladies, instead of a criminal. Even the quality paper is scented with white lilies.
  
  The police officers in Boston didn't notice anything about my escapade of their control.
  
  The Kingfisher is bigger than any other ship, I have ever been and far more luxurious a damn sharp fine lady. At least in their first-class ticket. I even have Indian teak furniture in the hole room and a big Venetian silverware and mirror. Persian carpets and a blankets feel heavy and nice over your skin, with his rich red and silver intricated design.
  
  Finally, after the lavish dinner, we set a voyage in the Ocean... The dinner was polite and cheerful, even if uneventful. Sadly, oysters and clam chowder cream don't go well with seasickness. My ill intuition told me that wouldn't feel so sick on the deck... So here I end! Deep inside the boat and I don't find anything of interest yet.
  
  What I found it is that I was really wrong about seasickness, in general.
  
  The queasy feeling in my tummy got worse, as I entered the cargo hold... I ended up vomiting in this poor old chubby man shoes. Thankfully, he was more focused on my cleverage than in complaining about the whole affair. He maybe would end up being a big mark, but for now, I only want to get rid of this nausea.
  
  > Day 2
  Day 2
  
  Everything spins, turns and turns around me as if I dwell in a whale's stomach. The ship waiters are very attentive. After not retain anything, they called the first officer, a doctor
  
  The man enters with an old but well-maintained white coat over his vest; his hands are dirty and full of what looks and smells like whale fat. He fondles his fat lips, hiding his rotten misshapen teeth, a victim of rickets.
  
  Your gut makes you remember those old smugglers you look to set sail as a kid in the Boston harbour.
  
  The voice that comes from his lips is smoked and dry like Cuban cigars: "Oh, the young lady I could give you something that will make you feel better and cure your hysteria."
  
  You know the bottle in his hands, you have made yourself the liquid. The Calm down elixir... a pure alcoholic with some herbs ginger, lemongrass and some green fairy juice. You have no doubts about his plans now. He wants to rob you blind."
  
  > Fake drink the elixir
  "Thank you very much, Doctor." His face hardens and the surprise is like a bright ember in his eyes. Dangerous. Very dangerous.
  
  Finally, he left after prescribing a dose three times what you recommend to your clients. You stare at the label on the bottle. running a finger across the glass and the cork still sealed you don't think they sabotaged it. And the label is just as you designed it. The vivid illustration of a crow eating a snake. wrapped in a filigree frame.
  
  You just pretend to drink it and lie on the bed preparing your gun under the fluffy pillow.
  
  Nothing happens. You hear the tic-tac of the cuckoo clock elegantly hanging on the embossed marquetry. Your legs start to fall asleep and an itch arises in your hand. The incessant wobble in your cabin does not help you be alert.
  
  You sigh while you think:
  I need a Pepperbox which it can conceal in your body and will give me an edge against ill-reputed men, So I will send any man with ideas straightway to hell!
  
  > Are tired of this you will make a joke mannequin and go play poker instead.
  In a way, it is almost childish fun to create the idea of a human figure, with cushion covers and red wool fringes that you find on a cushion in the wardrobe. And a little black powder to add a little sparkle to the scene.
  
  Without realizing it you start to smile in front of the Venetian mirror.
  
  Smiling has become an automatic gesture; men only move for two interests. Sex and power; If you want to succeed on any swindle. Your target must desire you, to the point of forgetting their common sense. All their world and sanity in your hands and then tear them into pieces.
  
  You need fresh air, so you climb up the deck trying to forget your nausea while the wind pleasantly rocks over the huge sails and those things
  
  You smile at your lack of maritime knowledge, even being a native of the Boston pier among smugglers, you do not know anything about boats.
  
  "Poison?" You hear the sexy voice of your ex Dan behind you.
  
  You burst excited, "handsome Dan? How much time has passed? Two years?
  
  He melancholic replies maybe remembering the old days: "Yes, almost 3."
  
  Dan is called the handsome for something, his olive complexion, his deep black eyes and a bright and frank smile that seems to offer an eternity of delight; Of course, you know better than anyone how deceiving your ex-boyfriend's image is. Probably one of the best gamblers and scammers in the United States.
  
  The conversation flows quickly between the two, so much so that the small explosion in your room took you completely by surprise.
  
  Your smile made him laugh with that naughty predator face so sexy I have later added:
  "Is this up to you?"
  
  You pretend an innocent voice: "My fault? Let's say your doctor tried to drug me with my own merchandise."
  
  You both laugh for a while, looking at the sea. Until he finally speaks."I have a proposal for you. there is a very foolish man onboard, who has bonuses from mine shares and things to set up a small apothecary in a wagon. I want the bonuses you can have the wagon, horse and all his stock".
  
  You smile and squeeze his soft hand firmly, "Tell me no more, he likes poker and pretty women. We have a deal!"
  
  Juan was caught and arrested two days for entering your cabin. But soon the situation was solved while you working on your target, making him blushing each time you were around him. Soon, the moment to strike has come.
  
  > Day 120
  Day 120
  
  The entire passage of the Kingfisher is focused on your poker table as if it were the only leisure in this voyage. Probably it is, 120 travelling days from Boston to San Francisco, CA in this extreme modern clipper, it is not as romantic as novels attempting to show, at least you are used to the sea now.
  
  You sigh, trying your bluff your way with a smile in your cherry lips and extra cards in your whalebone corset. You twirling a lock of your red hair, blinking at Richard.
  
  Even with the Emerson patented ventilators working at full speed cleaning up the air and creating a nice breeze. In front of you, your target, Richard is sweating more than turkey on Thanksgiving Day, the aged chubby gentleman mops the sweat while mentally try to count the money he stills own. He'd started with a much bigger pile, but you and your cheating haven't been kind. Even with his economic situation, he fiercely reddens, each time he lustful stare at you, the fact you use your own benefit.
  
  The next is Dan, in his role as a professional gamble player, black piercing eyes wide-brimmed black hat, trying to count mentally the cards while paying attention to the simple gossips to not loose, trying to look like this is a real genuine poker game.
  
  And then there's you. Your own pile of chips is the biggest; you just need another winning bet. You may. But, of course, you're not here for a fair game. You're here to con art your way to the San Francisco Bay and from there to Nevada...
  
  Only another hand and I will rob him blind. I need that wagon, it would make my job a lot easier; it would save me months in San Francisco to get the money for the wagon and the horse. I have to do whatever I need... At least, I don't have a bad hand.
  
  > Will use some belladonna in his Brandy.
  You have good cards and you know it, calming your target is more useful to make him a lamb when he has to pay his debt.
  
  You calmly address the assistant cameraman. The young Scottish sailor is one of Juan's ruffians, and he already has the special glass I tampered with belladonna ready for our chubby man:
  
  "Williamson, can you do us the favour of bringing that Brandy bottle that Mr Richard has given to me?"
  
  The contents of the bottle are distributed among victories between the rest of the first-class audience, warming their hearts and making the hit easier.
  
  Richard's face calms as his eyes brightness changes; the goofy smile on his face reminds you of a little pig rolling in a puddle of shit.
  
  You sigh, as you suggestively let him see your cleavage line, The cards are now the last on his priority scale. "
  
  Soon, he makes stupid mistakes and the game ends without Richard being able to do anything more than give you everything between promises of love and a future. You stop listening to him while watching out of the corner of your eye the actions of the other conspirators. You with the horse and the wagon are pleased, so for once, there will be no problems...
  
  > The wheel of misfortune
  You frenetically try to pry and remove the wooden wheel from the mud, using everything you have in your wagon; the wheel is firmly embedded between the mud and an underground root, there is no way you can release the caravan alone.
  
  You swear out loud: "Pinche puta, I can hear horses coming from Nevada!"
  
  You grab your trusty Colt Patterson; you won in an honest poker game years ago, cocking the hammer while you try to take cover at the back of your wagon. If they want to dance ... You have a black powder Waltz to ignite their hearts!