Buck paced at the edge of town. Every soul in Mulewater wanted Adam's head on a pole, and Buck knew if he didn't deliver they'd be hollerin' for his next. He peered into the bright heat-haze shimmering off the desert floor. Nobody could survive out there for long, Buck told himself. Adams would be back. Unless the fool tried to get across the Wall...
- Start -
And Adams might just be desperate enough to try it. Could he pull it off though? Buck asked as he continued to pace. The man wasn't weak, but hadn't been known climbing mountains or anything. Buck had seen a lot over the course of the past few days, so he was wary to brush off the idea on the get out.
"What'a wanna do, Buck?" Ray asked. The kid had calmed down a lot once the town had been fixed up, but he as much as anyone wanted to see Adams pay.
It wasn't as though Buck didn't want to see the man hang for what he'd done - it was loads more complicated than that. Even though he had been the cause for all those...things coming into this world, it wasn't as though the man really meant for it to happen. Who was Buck to bring death upon a man for simply havin' negative thoughts? A lot'a folks would have to come answerin' if thinkin' bad shit became a punishable offense.
On the other hand, there were plenty o' crimes that yellow bellied sonofa' had committed after the fact that more made up for it. On top of that Adams had literally stabbed Buck in the back and left both he and Ray out to die, so there was a little bit a personal justice the sheriff wanted to enact upon the dead man.
"All said," Buck answered, lighting up a cigarette. "I think I'm gonna shoot the bastard. At least a couple of times."
"Good choice, Buck. Let me go tell the elders."
"You go do that. I'll wait here fer ya."
Buck took a nice long drag of his smoke as he watched the kid run back up to the town proper. Not quite a kid, anymore Buck reminded himself. You weren't no kid after you had killed, and Ray had done so in large number. The sheriff wasn't sure if you could count those they had put down as humans, but they had looked enough like 'em for the same feelings to rise up in your belly as you watched the light go outt'a their eyes.
Ray had a talent for it too - shootin', that is. Buck hadn't bothered to count the shots, half on account of bein' afraid he would lose. Ray was the first to notice that they only went down for good if you got 'em in the head. Wasted a lot of his favorite ammo on that mistake.
Running had worked for about half a day, all told. The burning town had given them a good vantage point, and they were able to keep ahead of the main horde of machine-folk while also managing not to get lost or on the wrong side of the greenbelt. If the enemy had been able to get between them and town, leavin' only the desert as a place to run, they'd'a been goners for sure.
Luckily, the runnin' was the easy part. Unluckily, they did not account for another horde to show up as if outt'a thin air and flank the duo back into town. surrounded proper, the boys had holed up in the only building sturdy enough not to have burnt down: The Sherrif's Office.
Buck had suggested givin' up - Ray had slapped him for that. He'd make a good sheriff one day. Buck thought as he took another drag. The slap in the face turned into a small scuffle, which loosen up a floor board or two. Upon investigation, Buck discovered that his father sure did love his armaments.
32 rifles in total, 15 pistols. A few sticks of dynamite, and enough ammo to last for weeks. Why his pa didn't mention he could equip a small militia Buck would wonder forever. In any case, the new development had bolstered the spirits of Buck and Ray, and the readied the defense.
It took a full 8 hours to clear out every single one of those mindless husks. Buck's ears were still ringing, and he didn't expect it to go away anytime soon. There were some close calls, for sure. One had managed to sneak up on Buck, and in the ensuing fight the two of 'em ended up falling at least one story onto a railing. Snapped the spine of the thing he was fightin', but left Buck with a limp he really hoped wasn't permanent.
And despite Ray's high energy and calm demeanor, he wasn't without injury. For his efforts he had been rewarded a gnarly scar straight down his face - where one had tried to claw out his eye.
Despite it all, they had done it. and neither one had died. Cleaning up the bodies and rebuilding the town would be a major effort, but with the town no longer statues it wouldn't take too awful long.
Now, Buck still had a lot of questions all about that whole situation, but the Wytch had told him she would tell him in time - and Ray seemed to understand it a lot better than Buck did, so he was gonna wait. At least until they got this whole Adams situation resolved. One thing at a time. Buck finished his smoke and flicked it to the ground, crushing it under the heel of his boot.
"You ready to go?" He asked as Ray returned from town.
"Sure am." Ray replied. "Elders just ask that you take somethin' from Adams' person as proof of death."
"Fair enough. Now let's get a move on - if that o'l layabout as gone anywhere its the damn Wall."
"You don't think he went to the desert?"
"If he did he's already dead." Buck replied. "If the man has an ounce of self-preservation left in him he's going to try and get over the Wall."
"That'd probably kill 'im just as well."
"Better a probably than a certainty. Grab your pack, it's a long hike."
---
With the hard part over, all they had to do as follow them to their end. They started a bet to see how far he had gotten, before succumbing to the elements, the wildlife, or himself. Ray bet low - that a man as weak-willed as Adams wouldn't even make it half way. Buck bet high - didn't matter how weak his will was. Fear was the fuel for that mans soul, not will.
As the third day turned to night, they reached the base of the Wall. Sure enough, there were Adams' belongings, discarded. Anything that would weigh him down.
Ray flipped Buck a coin.
"Pistol, Ammo belt, knife." Ray examined the items. "Still has your blood on it, Buck."
Buck stared up at the Wall - the mountain that separated this world from...who knows what? To call it daunting would be a lie. The thing was terrifying. occasional ridges marked the only imperfections in its otherwise smooth stone surface. The thing was boiling hot during the day, and freezing cold at night. If you really wanted to, you could find a way to climb it - at least to start, anyway. That was the true cruelty of it, Buck realized. It would let you try, but you'd never win.
"There is no way that meek creature conquered this beast." Buck said, with only half relief.
"You're right. He tried though." Ray was working at the dirt near the discarded items. "Got a broken ankle for his trouble, too."
"How'd'ya figure?" Buck pressed his hand on the surface of the Wall, feeling its dominance through the palm of his hand.
"There are tracks leading away, but not back towards town."
"Course not." Buck turned back around. Cigarette already out. "He's going to the desert."
"Now it's your turn," Ray said, standing back up. "How'd'ya you figure?"
"It's like I said." Buck replied, lighting the smoke. "If he had any self-preservation he'd go to the Wall."
"If he couldn't get over the Wall," Ray seemed to follow. "He'd go to the desert to die."
"Man's a coward to the core." Buck said. "Better to let the sand take him than my gun."
"Think we can catch him in time?"
"Prolly not, but I've been thinkin' - as much as I want to kill the man myself. It might be even better to know that he died terrified that we were right on his heels."
"You've got some real issues, Buck."
"Yes, yes I do." Buck picked up a couple small sticks from under his feet. "Now lets make camp for the night. We'll let him get comfortable with his head start."
Ray sighed, but helped in the collection of kindling. "Some real issues, Buck."
"Yeah - issues with bein' stabbed in the back."
"I was going to say trust, but that fits too."
Well, that too. Buck thought as he lit the fire. But gettin' stabbed sure didn't help those any.
- End -
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