Death Rides a Horse

Was a time, not too long ago, being out on the plains without an army was suicide. Time's a bit different now, huh? It got different in a hurry. Out here, you can see them coming. Got plenty of room to get away as long as you got a good horse. Still, wouldn't mind having an army, but then beggars can't be picky. Heaven help you the day the bullets run out.

I remember riding into Cimarron the day things went to Hell. Me and Gus had recently come into a bit a money and we figured we'd treat ourselves to some of the famed Cimarron girls. Couldn't pass through a mining camp without hearing a handful of the things they'd do for the right price. And you could always count on Cimarron girls to have all their teeth. It's damn shame the brothel was the first place to close. A damn, cryin shame.

Anyway, we ride into town, dust covered, tired and sore from the saddle. A thunderstorm chased us the whole ride and all we wanted was a drink. Something stiff to knock the miles off. We ride up to the saloon and what do we find but the place boarded up. A sign been nailed to the door but neither me, nor Gus could read so it didn't much matter. The boarded up door sent a clear enough message that we didn't need no fancy words anyway.

"Pretty quiet, don't you think?" Gus removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

He wasn't wrong. I took a moment to really look around and there wasn't a soul to be seen. Most of the nearby buildings were boarded up like the saloon.

"Now that you mention it, yeah. It is," I said.

We spent a couple minutes in silence, trying to decide what to do when the storm prodded us to move. Thunder cracked and rain came down like pouring piss out of a boot. Finding shelter became our new priority.

None too happy about our current situation, we headed to the church. Figured it was the best place to go since churches don't ever close and it'd be mighty un-Christian of them to turn us out, even lookin like we did.

All we wanted was to escape the storm. Turned out we'd have been better off stayin out in the wet. Guess that's what you call ironic.

We go inside and there's folks laying all over the place, moaning and coughing and crying. The couple of folks that were tending to them looked up at me and Gus like we were the Devil come to carry them away.

One had to have been the preacher cause he carried a small wooden cross in one hand and a Bible in the other.

He comes up to us and says, "I'm sorry, but if you value your health and your lives you really should leave. An affliction has struck this town and you're certain to catch it if you remain here."

He was a small guy and looked so worn down, like he might collapse any second. Dark bags rimmed his sunken eyes, and his skin had lost most of its color. The conviction in his quivering voice was unsettling, I admit, I didn't much want to go back out in the storm. And I sure as Hell wasn't gonna ride back where I came from, and I told him so.

"In case you haven't noticed, it's raining like the second coming of Noah out there. You're crazy if you think we're just going to turn aroun—"

A man laying nearby screamed before coughing and convulsing uncontrollably. The preacher rushed to him, uttering soft, soothing prayers.

"Frank!," Gus whispered, "Let's get on out of here. It can't be any worse out there than it is in here."

He grabbed my arm and gave it a tug to try and get me to follow him. Instead, I stood there watching as the preacher did his best to keep the man from bashing his head into the hardwood floor.

Without turning to look at me the preacher shouted, "The town is all but empty now! Stay anywhere you like but here! And get out first thing in the morning for your own sakes!"