Sheriff Buck | Part 1

- Prompt 8 of 30 -

“Sheriff, come quick! There’s trouble down at the water hole!” Buck slid his hat back up off his face, rubbed his eyes, and dropped his boots down off the edge of his desk. “Is it Adams?” “No sir. Not this time.”

- start -

“Yer damn straight this isn’t Adams.” Buck was havin’ a hard time processing the scene in front of him. Struggling to find the words. He surveyed the scene once again. “How long they been like this?” He said, poking one of the bar goers on the bare of their shoulder. They were still warm, which puzzled him further.

“Well, sheriff. I came to you right as quick as found them myself. Couldn’t’a been more than 30 minutes now.” The man was backing away from the scene, hat held in front of his chest.

Buck scratched at the scruff on his face. He was still sorta wakin’ up, but he were usually faster than this at pickin’ up a scent. This was just so damn weird.

What in God’s name would cause 50 people to just up and turn to stone? All of em’ frozen in place. As if Medusa ‘erself had shown up and caught the lot of them. It was sturdy stone too, as Buck found out when he accidentally bumped into one of the saloon girls. Didn’t even budge. Buck grabbed her by the arms and pushed. Nothin’.

Buck stifled a chuckle. Never been so hard to get a lady of the night on her back.

“Watch’ya thinkin’ bout?” The kid asked.

“Well,” Buck answered, straightening his hat. “I’m tryin’a wrap my head around this whole situation, kid.”

Buck crouched down, examine the victim’s feet. “The stone seems to go down beneath the floor, here.” He said, pointing.

The kid drew closer, cautious - not of the people-turned-statues, but something for sure. “Um, what if its goin’ up?”

“Whadd’ya mean?” Buck looked the boy in the eye, playin’ with the toothpick resting on his teeth.

“What if the stone, or whatever it is, actually came up from the floor? Rather than down, I mean. Sheriff.”

“What’s yer name, kid?”

“I’m Ray, the Millers kid. The Millers are my parents, I mean.”

Buck chuckled. “I got that. What makes you think it came from below us?”

“You see how there’s those little bits o’ wood all about their feet n’ such?”

“Sure do.”

“Well if the stone was goin’ into the floor, those bits of wood would be underneath too.”

Buck lifted himself back up, dusting the dust off of his knees. “Just saved me about an hour o’ daylight, Ray. Anyone ever told you yer smart?”

“My Momma says I’m always talking out of turn. And my Pa says I talk back to much.”

“You’ve got good parents, kid. Tellin’ somebody their smart wastes air - if they’re actually smart they’ve already moved on.”

“Uh-huh.” Ray replied, examining the poker players.

Buck reached into his front pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “Keep looking around. I’m going to go outside and think a bit.”

The evening air had a chill to it, but it being just the beginnings of fall you could still feel the warmth of the sun. Just a hair, but it was holdin’ on. Buck took a long first drag of his cigarette, and let the smoke sit in his lungs for a moment.

It ain’t a damn Medusa, you dolt. Buck exhaled, a swirl of dancing smoke rising to the sky. He flicked a little ash of the tip, a habitual action - not a necessary one.

Well if it ain’t no damn Medusa, what is it? He brought the rolled paper back to his lips, and breathed deep. He let his head fall back and took in the sky, all oranges and reds. A Deep purple in the center. Barely a cloud in the sky. With an exhale he added one, though a deeper gray than the rest.

They were sturdy, too. Like the stone was protectin’ them. There we go. The grass had finally hit his brain. Perhaps they didn’t turn to stone. None of them looked like they were in pain - what if the stone was armor?

That still left a burning question.

Why?

“Is that Mr. Adams?” It seemed Ray got bored of lookin’.

And sure as shit, it was. The drunk had managed to not be in a bar for once in his life. In fact, he was currently makin’ his way towards the pair - at a pace not unlike Ray had been not 15 minutes ago.

“You gotta see this, Sheriff.” You could smell the alcohol on the man from yards away.

“Lemme guess, Adams. People have gone and been turned to stone.”

“People have be- you already knew?” The man stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the Sheriff. The same way a dog might, with his head cocked to the side.

“The drink makes you slow, Adams.” Buck closed the distance in a blink, and slapped his hand down on the drunken man’s shoulder. The poor bastard nearly fell over. “What kind of Sheriff don’t know what’s goin’ on in his own town.”

Buck spun the intoxicated Mr. Adams around, and gave him a slight nudge. “C’mon Ray, Adams here is gonna help us solve the case.”

“Yes Sheriff.”

“Quit callin’ me that. My name is Buck - My dad was The Sheriff - I’m just Buck.”

“Yer wearin’ the badge. And you act like a sheriff.” the kid chimed back.

“And your name is Merle,” Adams added. “Not many people know that - Merle Buckingha-”

“Have I died? Is this my hell?”

----

Adams had been correct. There were more people who had been turned to statues. As it so happened - the whole town had been. They found most of them in their homes - readin’ or knittin’ by the fire. Some of them had just sat down for dinner. His deputy was over looking a well, with a woman next to him. Miss Annabelle Torres. Lost engagement ring, perhaps - or playing the field? The whole lot of them - his entire town just up and froze. Right under his nose, too. That’s what got to him most.

Have I gotten weak? Slow? Was there somethin’ I was supposed to notice? Buck stamped his feet into the dirt. He stared off past the edge of town, watched how the evergreens swayed in the evening wind. His job was keeping this little mountain town safe - and it was easy. Nothin’ ever happened here.

On one side was the mountain range they called the Wall. A ring of peaks and rocky hills. Impenetrable by all except those daring enough to mine. Follow the base long enough and you’d run into one of these towns. 12 of them in total. Each with a Sheriff - not just a title but a family line of protectors.

Go towards the center of this world and you’d find death. Miles and miles of nothing. Sand, rock and nothing. Maybe a snake. You’d be lucky to find a snake - some said that if the sand got you you might not stay dead. Stories to tell your children to keep them from being bad, but all those stories got some truth in them. Somewhere.

Okay, Buck. Think. He lowered himself to a squat, and started playing with his hat. The other two went about their business - whatever it was. The stone looked like it might be protectin’ these folks. If so, from what? And why leave the three of them un-statufied? What good could a Kid, a Sheriff, and A Drunk possibly do?

At least he had a gun. The kid was smart, but untested. He wouldn’t be any good in a fight. The Drunk? He just, was.

Like some weird game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Buck laughed and lit another cigarette.

“What’s so funny?” The kid cut in.

Adams just stood there.

“Just remembered somethin’ funny, that’s all.” Buck took a drag and took in the rising moon. It wasn’t red yet - not quite ready for a harvest. If Buck was a believer in signs he’d take this as one.

“There’s a woman we have to go see.” He said to his newfound partners. “She’s a couple days journey from here. I got supplies enough for the three of us.”

“But what about the town?” Ray asked, almost challenging the lawman.

“They aren’t goin’ no where.” Adams chimed in.

Strangely, that seemed to work. The kid started one way, but quickly switched direction.

“Not my office, my cabin.” Buck directed with a smirk.

“What kinda lady is she?” Ray asked. Buck could almost see a jaunt in his step. Was the boy excited for adventure?

“Not unlike a Medusa, actually.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Buck replied. “You’ll get it when you see her.”

- end -