Railroad To Nowhere

Three.

Tall mountains rose on either side of the path, their flanks cut like slices of cake from intensive gold mining. Guarding trees loomed above, providing welcome shade for the travellers who took this trail. Jake was one of them, taking a swig of water from one of his hip flasks (the other contained whisky) and pouring some into an old tin dish for his struggling steed.

They were coming into the Timber Valley, and the next town would crop up soon. It had taken Jake the best part of the afternoon to reach where he was now and it was still light and warm despite the late hour. He pushed on.

***

The stranger sauntered into the hotel and called a greeting to the grizzled man behind the desk, who immediately perked up as he saw the silver dollar being slid across the table to him.

"Colt Johnson! Where y'been?" the man laughed, pocketing the highly prized dollar.

Colt smiled. "Here and there," he replied vaguely, his voice clear and not tainted with age like Jake's was.

The man just nodded and his customer walked up the creaky wooden stairs. The shabby façade of the hotel did nothing to grace the clean, well-swept inside. At least he would have a good sleep tonight.

***

Jake came in not long after, leading his tired horse into an empty stall and checking in to a room. The night was at last drawing in and bringing coolness with it. He left the window open to let the air in and sat back on the old four-poster, putting his hat over his face out of habit.

He reflected on why the hell he had come all the way from the outskirts of the barren badlands, where he was starting to establish himself as an important figure, to here, the lush and fertile Timber Valley. Was this strange man even worth it, just because he had unsettled Jake? Because he knew how to tell truth from lies, and the sky seemed to darken with his mood? Jake thought so. Especially after what he had heard back at Lightning Tree...

Alone with nothing but his tormented thoughts, he drifted off to sleep.

***

Jake woke to loud gunshot echoing throughout the town. He leapt off the bed and rushed to the window, shutting it with a bang as he saw the scene outside. Then he raced downstairs and outside, taking it all in. The Crawlers had arrived.

***

No one knew quite what they were, except for the fact that they weren't quite human. Long ago, when everyone was much less civilised, anyone who had displeased the sheriff were exiled to the badlands, which ran on either side of the inhabited part of the West from the coast to halfway across America.

How and why they came back each summer was a mystery, as well as the fact that they seemed to live for a long, long time. Some people thought that they were vengeful spirits, others thought that the natives were involved. There was even some speculation that they were controlled by God, although many thought that their sins were not equal to such punishment.

Jake pulled his six-shooters from their holsters and fired left and right with deadly precision. The seething mass of bodies tumbled through the town, some breaking away and stumbling off, but most of them heading through the centre of town, following the path.

Most of them were quickly dealt with, but there seemed to be more of them than usual this year and it was almost overwhelming. There was a sound of smashing glass and rendering wood as a bunch of Crawlers broke through into the drugstore, destroying the glittering medicine bottles stacked neatly inside. Shots followed them and soon they moved no more.

Through all the dust and confusion Jake glimpsed the stranger making a hasty getaway and grabbed the shoulder of a man standing near him, shotgun in hand.

"What's the name of that man?" Jake asked, pointing. The man smiled. "That'm be Colt Johnson, sir. Best miner you've got."

Jake thanked him, and went to fetch his horse. It was rearing up in fright, eyes rolling. Jake untied it and vaulted on, maintaining close control. Colt's suspicious face still sharp in his mind, he wheeled around and gave chase.