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Friday, March 29, 2024

Dust and Sand – Chapter 25 – By Sean P. Wallace

If he could’ve screamed, Dustin would’ve.

Then a shot rang out and a bullet bounced by Big John’s feet. The giant dropped his prisoner in shock and the boy fortunately landed on his feet. Dustin didn’t need two opportunities to make a run for it so he sped away.

Big John started after him but another shot impacted in front him.

“How about you leave the young man alone, friend?” someone shouted. It was Smitty, sitting atop his horse with a rifle aimed at Big John. He wore his Ranger’s uniform proudly and had one eye screwed shut to give him better aim.

“Don’t think you can stop me, lawman,” Big John shouted back. He swayed slightly; it seemed like he’d carried on drinking after they’d been run out.

“Don’t think I won’t put a bullet in you, friend.”

Big John licked his lips, taking a moment to weigh the risks, then waved a dismissive hand at Dustin. “You ain’t worth it,” he said before turning and limping away.

Smitty rode down to Dustin when Big John was out of sight, his rifle still in his hand. Dustin had remained exactly where he was for fear of what might happen if he moved; he’d heard tales of the Rangers but this was his first time interacting with one and he didn’t want to piss the guy off.

“You alright, son?” Smitty asked.

Dustin nodded.

“Don’t say much, do you?”

“A man who says too much is a man who seeks trouble,” Dustin had said almost without thinking; it was one of his Pappy’s favourite sayings.

Smitty had laughed. “Now ain’t that right. Is it true what those orderlies said about you, son? That you took on that lump after he stole your booze?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

Dustin then looked at Smitty defiantly. “It wasn’t that he stole my booze, sir; it was that he stole a present from my friends on my birthday and no-one else would say a word about it.”

Smitty had given him an appraising look. “You ever shot a rifle, son?”

“Used to hunt with my Pappy all the time.”

“You any good with it?”

“He wouldn’t have kept taking me out otherwise.”

Smitty nodded. “How would you like to work for the Government?”

And that was how he’d ended up in the Rangers. Five years of regular service followed, five years of keeping the peace and fighting Indians and cultists and harriers. Then came the Mexican War and the Yellow Band. Being in the Yellow Band was Dustin Longe’s last memory.

The Yellow Band wasn’t the name the Government’d given them; the other Rangers called the group that on account of them not taking an active part in the war. Dustin would’ve fought if he’d been asked but someone needed to round up deserters before they became harriers. So Dustin spent most of the war gathering up Americans and shooting those who wouldn’t come peaceably for a trial. It wasn’t a great time of his life but it was necessary.

And then… darkness. Dustin’s memories ended with the Mexican War still being contested. There was nothing until Dust’s first memory, when he was found in the Badlands by an Indian and then captured by mercenaries.

The absence of memories was uncomfortable as any wound he’d ever received and prodding it did nothing to improve his mood. He looked up at the ceiling, presuming that his Word was being held above him, and wondered what the cultists had planned for that piece of his soul. The Word had supposedly been taken before he’d become the Wanted Man so it didn’t contain anything of Resistance but it was still his. He felt sick when he considered what they might do to it.

Maybe the Father had been right. Maybe he should be taking better care of his soul. It wasn’t something he thought about all that often. Dust wasn’t a man given to introspection unless the circumstances were extreme… like, for example, when he’d been captured by a cult of That Which Sins. Perhaps he’d be more philosophical, as well as a better fighter, if he were whole. At the very least, it’d make situations like this less likely.

Someone knocked on his door. Dust stepped back, heart racing; without the Bond, he would’ve been able to hear them long before they could knock and so wouldn’t have been surprised like this. He didn’t like the feeling.

They knocked again. “Dust?” they asked. The voice was faintly familiar.

“Yeah?”

“Step back.”

Dust did so. Then a great blow struck the door and its metal hinges screamed as they were sheered. The slab of metal fell inward and landed at Dust’s feet with a crash that echoed terribly within the confined cell. Behind the destroyed doorway stood a figure he knew very well and another surprise that cut through him like he were a ten year old.

“Shadows Fade?!” he exclaimed.

SeanPWallace
SeanPWallace
Sean is an editor, writer, and podcast host at Geek Pride, as well as a novelist. His self-published works can be found at all good eBook stores.

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