The Band of Rotten: A Sanders Sides Story

A Start

United States, 1860

They were closer to the coast. The smell of the ocean became more distinct and the chatters of sea birds grew louder. Patton had underestimated his own endurance, thinking he could walk to the coast without getting tired so quickly. It seemed he was wrong. Roman the soldier still walked firmly by his side carrying his heavy military-issue rucksack with a straight posture. Strong, was the thing that came to Patton's mind. The whole ordeal with the robbery many nights before had left Patton without his beloved ride.

"We should rest, whatcha think?" Patton heaved, placing his hands on his knees and hunching in exhaustion. "I can't walk."

"Patton," Roman squinted under the sun, watching the birds fly over their heads. "This is the third time you asked for a rest in the past hour. We should really get going."

"Aw, darn!" Patton scrunched his face in the heat. "Can't we take a rest just a bit? I tell ya, these bruises o' mine ain't helpin' me one bit."

He took off his glasses. It was round with a thin frame that sits very well on the bridge of his nose. He could read the tiny engravement on the side of the frame. Jesse B. It was one of the reasons why Jesse wasn't as good a shot as Patton was. That sister of his had quite the poor eyesight. "Got it from mother," Jesse had said at some point. He had swapped the lenses for unprescribed ones for himself after Jesse had given it to him. It was bloody when he first received it. He didn't need glasses—a sharpshooter like him had a perfect vision—but it was nice to have and wear. A reminder, Patton thought.

"I suppose we could use a rest, huh, Patton?" Roman finally said with a smile, pulling his companion under shade to sit and rest. It was difficult to stay upset at the rider after nearly getting them killed with the robbery incident. After all, Patton had a way of being so cheerful that he just had to forgive him. Roman could not believe he had traveled so far away from the army. He couldn't decide whether he was remorseful or relieved. "Where are you from Patton?"

"Well, uh..." Patton was pulled from his memory back into the heat of the day. He answered with a nervous chuckle. "Tha west, pal. They call it the wild west. Y'know, lotsa farms and saloons. Cowboys ridin' everywhere."

"Is that what you are?"

"A cowboy?" Patton chuckled again. There was a slight sting in his eyes—it was ignored. "Sho thing, but not really either."

There was silence for a moment as the wind passed with sand flying every which way. It wasn't something Patton really wanted to remember. He did not hate his childhood, but there were a few things he wished went differently. The glasses he had, the hat he wore, and the bandana tied around his neck—those were all reminders of his past; memories he would like to keep. So he did. Roman was quiet next to him, asking no other questions.

"So, tell me," Patton looked at his side. "What's it like ta be a soldier?"

"Sometimes it's delightful, sometimes it's dreadful," Roman answered with a wide smile. "In a way, it's exciting when a battle is on! You run and hide, run again, shoot. I was stationed in Mexico—take care of the colony. The people are incredible. And the culture—nothing like I've ever seen before. Truly spectacular."

"And why you ain't with ya whole dang soldier crew then, fella?"

"Ah, well..." Roman stood from the ground, dusting himself along the way. "That's a story for another day, hm?"

The soldier offered a hand to the rider. Patton took it with a gruff, still tired. Of course, he knew that they needed to get moving. After he thought his legs were ready again, they continued their way to the coast. After all, the American East Coast was the farthest place both the soldier and the rider needed to be. To get away from everything.