Iron Wasteland

Chapter 7

Irons skidded into the town, a wave of sand cascading forward. He turned his head rapidly, trying to identify the source of the sound. Another gunshot, and Irons dashed towards it. As he did he noticed people coming out of their homes and shops, staring at him.

"Stay inside!" He ordered, pouring all the sheriff-ness he could into his voice. "It's not safe out here!"

The people didn't need a lot of convincing, especially as sand was kicked up in front of the sheriff as another shot rang out. Irons could now see who was firing, a man standing on top of an old, beat-up truck. It looked like it was more rust than metal, but through either magic or divine intervention was still running. The man with the gun was accompanied by two others, who were loading items from a store into the truck.

"Well, looks like some sorta outsider is trying to ruin our fun!" The gunman laughed, taking aim again. "Guess they'll have to burn your corpse in the morning!"

He fired again, Irons dodging behind a wooden post holding up an awning. He glanced around, trying to figure out a plan. Three bandits, one armed, the other two were probably armed as well. A hole was punched through the post above his head. Alright, time to act! He thought.

Irons ducked as he ran out, bringing his revolver out and taking aim. He saw the man aiming, and fired first. In an instant, the gun went flying from the man's hand, a chip in the barrel. Now that they were unarmed, Irons sprinted towards them.

"Drop the boxes!" He shouted. "Don't move!"

Both of the movers did the first, but one brought his hands up, pointed at Irons. A burst of ice shot from his hand, the ground frosting over beneath his feet. The sheriff raised his arms to melt it, but a fireball flew from behind him and burst the icicle in a hiss of steam.

"I hope this doesn't become the norm..." Providence grumbled as she came up next to him, more fire swirling in her hands.

"Hate to disappoint, but..." He trailed off as the two approached.

The gunman had vanished into the truck, and a second later the truck rumbled to life. The ice user managed to hop onto the back before it took off, kicking up a massive cloud of sand and dust into the last man's face. He coughed and sputtered, easy pickings for Irons to grab by the wrists. He pulled the man free from the cloud, then held his arms behind his back.

"Got any more friends in there?" Irons asked, tilting his head towards the smashed storefront.

"No–no, man, just us. I can't...fuckin' believe those bastards left me!"

"Yeah, crime doesn't tend to have strong family bonds." Irons chimed, glancing around the area.

"Alright, coast is clear!" The sheriff shouted. "You guys got a sheriff around here? Or at least a jail?"

Several people were coming out of the nearby buildings, all looking at each other then back to Irons. Everyone looked nervous, like they'd be attacked at any moment. That sent an alarm bell off in his head, but he couldn't act on anything yet. A second later someone came sprinting around one of the buildings, spurs clinking as he ran.

Irons took in the man's appearance, assessing who he was. The man was built like a triangle, with incredibly broad shoulders and an oddly skinny waist. He had an exaggerated black handlebar mustache, and an equally exaggerated wide-brimmed cowboy hat. A golden sheriff badge was pinned to his leather vest. A holster jostled and bounced as the man ran up, huffing and puffing. It didn't look like anything was in it.

"Ah! I'm–hah...I'm the sheriff here!" He wheezed, pushing the badge with his thumb. "I can–can take it from...hee...here..."

He yanked the man from Iron's grasp, pulling a pair of cuffs from his belt and slapping them on the man. This new sheriff glared at Irons with a scrutinous eye. Irons simply stared back, hands up in surrender.