The last Ride of Hairlip Green

A Massacre

Green dismounted, his boots crunching on the charred earth as he surveyed the scene before him. What had once been a modest town was now a ghost of its former self. The air was thick with the bitter stench of smoke and ash, remnants of what had once been lively structures now reduced to little more than burnt bones. The sky, once a clear blue, was now tinged with a gray haze, the sun struggling to break through the heavy cloud of smoke that still hung over the town like a shroud.

The saloon, once the heart of the town, was little more than a shell now. The walls, blackened by fire, were crumbling in places, with chunks of burnt timber strewn about the ground. The roof had collapsed inward, leaving only the jagged frame of the building standing against the sky. Its windows, once welcoming with warm light, were now shattered, their edges curled and blackened by the flames that had torn through the structure. The door, which might have once swung open to the laughter of townsfolk or the clink of coins, now hung limply on one hinge, creaking in the faint breeze.

Next to it, the general store had fared little better. The building's once sturdy frame had been ravaged by flames, the timbers warped and splintered beyond recognition. The remains of the shelves, once stocked with goods, were nothing but smoldering, twisted skeletons of wood. Charred boxes and broken jars littered the ground, and the floor was covered in a thick layer of soot. What little could still be salvaged was covered in ash, the once-vibrant colors of goods long gone, replaced by the monochrome of destruction. The glass windows had exploded outward, leaving shards embedded in the walls and scattered across the ground like jagged teeth.

As Green's eyes moved across the town, his gaze fell upon the small body lying lifeless in the dirt. The woman—perhaps no older than a child—was sprawled in the shadow of what had once been the saloon, her tiny frame twisted unnaturally. The arrow lodged in her back was a stark contrast against her pale skin, the shaft stained with dried blood. The scalp had been removed, the cruel mark of a savage brutality that spoke of more than just death—it spoke of a message. Her face was dirt-smeared and vacant, her eyes closed forever. Green's stomach twisted, his breath caught in his chest. There was no denying the cruelty of the act.

Lyin' stood beside him, his cigarette dangling from his lips, his voice laced with disgust. "Goddamn Injuns," he muttered, his words thick with contempt. "Killing like this... what's the matter with them?"

Green didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the town's remains—the twisted metal and broken bricks, the half-burnt wagons that lay abandoned in the street. It was a slaughterhouse of a town, its life and warmth erased in a single night of fire and fury. The only sounds were the faint crackle of embers still smoldering in the remains of the buildings and the distant whistling wind that seemed to carry the ghosts of those who had once lived here.

"This ain't right," Lyin' continued, flicking the ashes from his cigarette onto the ground, his voice quieter now. "I've seen raids before, but this? Hell, this ain't no raid. This is something else."

Green's jaw tightened as he stepped forward, the weight of the silence pressing on him. "Ain't no simple raid," he muttered. "This... this was something darker. Whoever did this didn't just want to kill. They wanted to send a message."

Lyin' frowned, his gaze moving over the town, trying to make sense of what had happened. "You think it's the military? Could be some kind of punishment raid... I've heard rumors about things like this."

Green didn't respond right away. He was too deep in thought, his mind piecing together the fragments of what had happened. Whatever the cause, whatever the reason, the cruelty here was unlike anything he'd seen before. "I don't know," he said finally. "But whoever did this... they wanted to make sure we understood who's in charge around here. And I don't think they're done yet."