Animal (part 5)

John stands alongside his steed, a lone figure of redemption amongst the burning desert sand. He, a dove among crows, watches the dying sun spill over the sloping plateau. Small dustbowls swirl and thrash around his form. Ahead lies Fairfield, its foundries built above the dying earth. A silver rail extends from the middle of the town, trailing the train’s path in the sand. The railroad track shoots forth, off into the darkened horizon. By tomorrow the train will arrive and he will have found the tall man. John smiles in the dust, clutching his chest. He sees Rose. His body rocks and he snaps straight, arching his back, fleeing from the memory.

The wind picks up and chills John’s skin. He glances up at the rocking town sign. The name is spelled in fading, gold paint, flaked and worn. A chunk of wood is missing. The sign creaks on the rusty hinges that hold it. The wind dies. John’s horse whines quietly, stamping the ground nervously. John rests his hand upon the animal’s mane, stroking the hair softly. He turns and takes hold of the steed’s reigns, staring into its deep, black eyes.

“I have found him, Paul. Rest well.”

John smiles and unhooks the saddle’s straps. He sets the saddle bags aside and lets the saddle fall to the ground below. The horse shakes its head and faces John, neighing quietly. John brushes the animal’s hair back and smiles.

“You are all that is left of the riders. You rode with Paul, perhaps not in battle, but you have carried him nonetheless. You shall be the last. Now go. Be free and join your brothers on the plains.”

The steed stands and watches as John stoops to pick up the supplies. He turns and approaches Fairfield, passing under the creaking sign above. John’s horse watches for sometime before it turns and begins to trot away towards the falling sun.

***

“When will the train start boarding?”
“About five minutes before departure time.”
“Why so short a time?”

The man behind the ticket counter smiles. His wrinkled, sunburned skin hangs loosely from his body. He places his pencil down and clasps his hands together.

“You ain’t from around here, are you, son?”
“No,” John replies.
“Thought so. People don’t ride this train, son. Not the black rail. Not unless you have business.”
“I have business.”

The ticket salesman shakes his head.

“You’re young.”
“I’ve been told.”
“It’s a dangerous world, son.”
“I’m prepared.”
“For anything?”
“Anything.”
“Even death?”

John hesitates and swallows hard.

“Even death,” he whispers.
“Then that’ll be two dollars.”

John removes two wrinkled bills from his satchel and places them on the counter, under the metal bars.

“Where’s the nearest inn?” John asks.
“Above the tavern. Straight down the main road. Can’t miss it.”
“Thank you, sir.”

John turns to leave. The old man calls out.

“I know who you hunt. He’s a bad man.”

John stops. The wind blows against his face, ruffling his hair.

“We all sin,” John whispers.
“But not all are damned, son.”
“Not all. But some.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“I know.”

John turns and begins to march down Fairfield’s main road, following the silver rail line as rays of light shine off into the distance.

***

Prince licks his lips. His horse gallops across the desert plain, racing through the burning sun. The light holds no boundaries upon his body. The generals of the tall man’s band travel freely. John is near. Prince can taste him. Taste his surrender. His surrender to death. Prince smiles. The wind blows fierce against his face, tears spill from his dead eyes. He laughs. A gust of wind tears his Stetson from his head, his hair spilling wildly from his shoulders. Ahead lies a prairie dog’s den. Prince realizes too late his mistake.

His horse stumbles into the hole. Prince feels himself thrown from the saddle, flying through the dust filled air. He lands hard into the sand, jolts of pain scuttling down his shoulder. He cries out into the empty landscape. His horse lies shrieking and thrashing. Prince leaps to his knees, crawling feebly to his steed. He smells the blood even before he lays his hands upon the wound. Above the horse’s ankle a thick piece of white bone protrudes. Blood pours slowly from the open skin. The horse thrashes and cries. Prince stands, shaking against the wind.

“No.”

The horse can not stand. Tears form randomly along the scars in Prince’s eyes. He groans and sinks to his knees, pounding his fists in the dirt. He strokes the steed gently, whispering to it.

“I will see you again, friend.”

Prince draws his dark pistol and places the barrel against the animal’s head, firing once. The horse’s thrashing ceases. Prince lets the gun fall as he cries against the dead creature. He raises his bloodstained hands to the sky and weeps, screaming towards the sun.

“Damn you! You take everything from me! Father, I damn you! Let me die, or live, but do not take from me all that I love! You have taken everything. You cruel God…”

Prince sits weeping in the sand for some time. He finally stands and gathers his goods, holstering his pistol. He marches on towards Fairfield, determined not to fail.

“I come for you now, John,” Prince whispers, smiling.

***

John makes his way across the barren town. An old woman watches him as he passes, rocking in a misshapen chair. Two men whisper as he passes the bank. Ahead lies the tavern. It stands two stories tall, freshly painted despite all the wear around it. A clean sign hangs above the front entrance. From beside the front door a child approaches, wrapped in rags, his tan hands stretched out in a sign of charity.

“Please sir, can you spare some change?” he asks.

John stoops before the boy.

“Where’s your family?”
“Ain’t got one.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re dead,” the boy replies, not lowering his hand.

John shakes his head.

“So can you spare some change?”
“What happened to them?” John persists.

The boy’s face distorts briefly into a grimace of fear.

“I can’t talk about it.”
“Try.”
“He’ll come back if I do.”

John drops his bag.

“Who?”
“The man who burns the corn.”
“The tall man.”

The boy shakes.

“You’ve met him too?” he asks.

John nods. The child continues.

“He killed my pa. My ma. My brother Luke. He burned the fields. He left me. He never said why but he left me. He left me alone in this barren place. I’m scared.”
“He will pay,” John whispers.

The boy glances up, his dirty face spotted with freckles.

“Do you believe that?”
“I do,” John replies.
“Then you are lost as well.”

The boy stands and turns to leave, John grabs his bony arm. He stuffs a handful of bills into the boy’s hand.

“Take this. Take my food. Find a place to stay. I will come back for you.”

The child smiles.

“My brother Luke said the same words.”
“I will try to find a way.”
“Then try.”

John stands and lets his saddle bags drop in the road.

“My name is John."

The child turns back to face him.

“Do not dwell on me, John. I will wait. I do not expect you to return, but I will wait.”

John watches as the boy turns and makes his way down the road, dragging the saddle bags in the dirt behind him.

***

The tavern is larger than it looks. John enters through the sturdy oak doors at the entrance. The bar patrons turn to watch him. He slowly makes his way through the small crowd of patrons. A few sit eating quietly and whispering at round two-man tables. The remaining sit at the bar, drinking in stupors, staring into their shot glasses. A young woman approaches him.

“Care for some company, sir?” she asks, her voice squeaking with every word.
“No.”

John navigates around the woman and approaches the front desk. A man in dirty overalls sits behind the counter, flipping through the local newspaper. John rings the silver bell once. The man glances up, his eyebrows raised.

“Can I help you?”
“You the owner?” John asks.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On what you need.”

John glances back. The patrons remain focused on him. The squeaky-voiced burlesque watches him intently. He turns back.

“I just need a room.”
“Company?”
“No company.”

The owner pushes himself up from his leather seat.

“You got cash?”
“Would I be here if I didn’t?”

The owner shrugs off the comment, continuing as if John had never spoken.

“Ya see, you’re a new face, mister. I ain’t never seen you before.”
“I get that a lot,” John replies.
“Indeed.”

He stands, struggling to keep himself on his feet.

“Round here, strange faces mean strange business.”
“My business ain’t with you. I’m leaving on the black rail tomorrow.”
“No one rides that train.”
“I have business with a passenger on it.”

The owner glances down at the pistols around John’s waist.

“Those guns…you a rider?”
“No. I’m hunting a rider.”
“It’s Anton, ain’t it?” the man asks.

John freezes.

“You know him?”
“I know his old name. He used to stay here when I was your age. He stayed with his partners.”
“Paul and Charlie,” John replies.
“And Hank. You remind me of him. He was a good man.”
“He was my father.”

The owner sighs.

“I should have known. He’s dead, ain’t he?”
“He’s dead.”

The owner pulls a rusty key from the key chain at his side. He places the key on the desk.

“Your room is number seven.”
“Seven.”

John places the key in his front pocket and turns, ascending the stairs.

“Mister,” the owner calls after him.

John turns.

“Make him pay.”
“I will,” John whispers, disappearing from view.

***

The room is cramped but cozy. A ruffled featherbed lies in the middle of the room. John sets his pack down and removes his hat and weapons. He sits on the soft bed, listening to the music and laughter coming from below. He rubs his hands through his hair, his face. He feels the scuffle of hair upon his chin and face. John removes his shirt and enters the bathroom.

A small blade lies upon the kitchen sink alongside a bottle of shaving cream. He spreads the cream across his face with the brush and picks up the razor. John stares into his reflection as he begins to shave. His skin is tan, rough. His hands are cracked and strong. He’s thin. Thinner than he can remember. Deep shadows form underneath his eyes.

“How long have I stayed awake?” John asks his reflection.

The being in the mirror remains silent, forever mocking his movements. John switches hands and begins to shave his right side. Water drips silently, pattering the metal basin loudly. John draws back a hiss of breath and stops. A trickle of blood makes its way down his throat. He continues shaving, mixing blood with foam until he has finished. The water in the basin is stained a shallow red. John turns the taps and lets the cool water run across his face. He stands, water dripping from his face and stares into the mirror.

“Who are you?”

His reflection does not reply.

“Who are you?”

Tears spills down John’s cheeks. The stranger in the mirror cries too. John shakes with rage, watching the glass shine in the light of the dusty bulb above.

“Who are you!?” John screams, slamming his fist into the mirror which shatters.

John continues to cry.

“What have you done to me? Where have you taken me? Where am I? Where have I gone? Where is my life? Answer me!”

The shattered glass lies quiet. The reflection remains, broken into a million pieces. John turns and makes his way to the bedroom, fleeing from his mind. He sits; alone, scared, desolate, shivering despite the heat. He lies back and stares out the open window, watching as the sun begins to die.

***

John stands in an empty room. Four white walls surround him. Darkness hovers overhead. A single bulb swings back and forth, sputtering in its last minutes of light. A chain hangs from the bulb, swinging to an unknown rhythm. He is dressed in the suit Rose gave him for his birthday, the beautiful white suit that he had proposed to her in. He was to be married in the suit. A figure approaches from the farthest wall. A black set of cloth drapes from its shoulders, wrapped along its form. Its face is blurred. John squints to see the figure’s features.

“Who are you?” John asks.

The figure remains silent. It raises a finger to its lips. The face begins to come into focus. John steps back. His reflection stares back.

“I am you.”
“You are shattered,” John whispers.
“As are you,” the figure replies.

John’s reflection approaches, its body is misshapen, jutting and broken, held together like shattered glass. John reaches for his revolver.

“You can’t kill me, John.”
“I can try.”
“I am a part of you.”
“No.”

John draws the revolver and fires. His reflection remains untouched.

“You fight in vain, John.”
“No fight is useless.”
“The fight can not be won. Do you really think killing him will bring Rose back?”

John smiles.

“No. I don’t. I no longer fight for myself. I fight for my family. I fight for the boy in rags. I fight for men like Ezekiel and all who have suffered at the tall man’s hands.”

John's reflection smiles. Its face is cracked and torn, shards of glass trickle from its lips.

“Then your fight is just.”

The figure reaches up and takes hold of the hanging chain that connects the dying light bulb above. Its hand tightens.

“I will always be here. I will be here to fight with you, John. Always.”
“Always.”

The reflection nods.

“Now wake, John. Wake.”

The reflection pulls the cord and the light fades. The room vanishes with the dark.

John opens his eyes. He lies upon the feather bed. From beyond the window, John can hear the roaring whistle of the number eight black rail.

***

John gathers his clothes and dresses. He places his Stetson lightly upon his head. The silver pistols of the riders lie upon his pillow. He checks the chambers and carefully cleans the two pistols. From outside the train whistle sounds again, closer but not at the station yet . John turns and makes his way out the room, closing the door behind him.

John makes his way down the stairs and out the front. The owner sits behind the desk, watching John as he disappears into the morning light.

***

Prince moves slowly through the desert path. Far beyond he can hear the trumpeting cry of the tall man’s train. He doubles his pace, sprinting through the desert sun, determined to make it to the town, determined to finish his job.

As Prince sprints through the scorched land a vulture circles above, crying out into the sky. Prince stops and stares up at the bird, seeing blackness but smelling its stench. The smells of a thousand dead emanate from the creatures skin.

“I shall not die by your ways. I shall die by the hand of man, not the fate of God.”

Prince laughs and starts again, his wild black hair fluttering back as he races against his own fate, destined to change that of another.

***

John stands behind a broken shed, watching as the black rail rolls into view. The shining black train screeches to a slow stop. From atop the engine car gushers of black smoke spew off into the sky. A lone figure approaches the front passenger car. A man dressed in a black robe, a collar of white underneath his chin. His blazing red hair hides his pale skin. He carries a black leather case in his left hand, in the right he clutches a book bearing the sign of the cross.

“A priest?” John whispers.

John watches as the man hands his ticket to the guard dressed in royal blue. He punches the ticket and steps aside, letting the man step on.

John stands and stares down the road. The young beggar child approaches. He’s dressed in new clothes. He holds a bible in one hand. The child stops beside John.

“Where are you going?” John asks.
“To church. And you?”
“I’m catching this train.”
“This is the train the tall man rides,” the boy says.

John nods. The child glances up at him.

“I will pray for you.”
“Thank you.”

The child turns and makes his way down the road. John watches him until he enters the church.

John turns and makes his way to the middle of the train, a few compartments behind the priest’s. Another guard dressed in blue approaches.

“Ticket, sir?”

John hands him the ticket.

“Have a nice ride.”

John smiles and steps aboard. The ticket salesman stands beside his booth, he watches John. John nods. The man crosses his heart and turns away. The train whistle sounds again. The guards step back on the train. With a lunge the black rail begins to move.

***

Prince enters Fairfield. He feels the ground rumble. He stands as the train pulls away, leaving him behind. He turns and makes his way to the supply store where a black horse stands, hitched to the post outside. A young man exits the store and stands beside his horse, checking the saddle bags.

“Going on a trip?” Prince asks.

The young man turns quickly, he speaks with a hoarse voice.

“Heading into the next town. Can’t afford the train,” he says, mounting his horse.
“What a coincidence, I just missed my ride.”

The man smiles. Prince laughs and takes hold of the steed’s reins. The man’s smile fades. Prince draws his revolver and trains it on the man’s chest.

“Get off the horse.”

***

John sits in the quiet car for some time. He turns Paul’s pistol over in his hands and sighs. A cry of laughter comes from across the cab. John holsters his pistol. He turns in the direction of the sound.

An infant sits bundled in its mother’s arms, laughing at the faces she makes. The woman looks up and sees John. She stops.

“Sorry if we bothered you.”

John waves his hand.

“Don’t be. Your child’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Where are you heading?”

The woman frowns.

“We’re heading to meet his father. We’re moving to the next town. He’s working a steady job.”
“Looks like things are going well for you.”

The woman nods.

“Do you have children?”
“I-I would have. But the woman I loved passed on.”
“I’m sorry, how did she-”
“Childbirth,” John lies.

The mother stands and takes a seat beside John. She takes his hand in his.

“You will persevere.”

John stands. His eyes shine. He knows that now is his time.

“I have business with someone in the next train.”
“Very well.”

John turns to leave but the woman stops him, grabbing his arm.

“I want you to have this.”

The woman sets her baby in the next seat and reaches into her purse. From it she pulls a silver chain. A cross is attached at the end. She places the necklace in John’s hands. John loops it around his neck and places it under his shirt, against his heart.

“Thank you.”
“Don’t let the bad memories haunt you,” the woman replies as John turns to leave.

John answers as he opens the door to the next car.

“I’ll try.”

***

John makes his way down the second passenger car. No one sits alongside the aisle. John draws his revolver and opens the door. He carefully moves over the clasps that holds the two cars together, wind furiously beats upon him as he moves. His feet shake as he steadies himself. His hands clasp around the door handle and he stumbles as the wind shoves him into the door. John groans and forces the door open.

A veil separates the back entrance from the rest of the car. John can hear the tall man speaking. He pushes the curtain open enough to see the entire car. The priest sits across from the tall man. Another man stands guard at the other side of the train. The priest speaks.

“What is it you need, Anton?”

The tall man grimaces.

“You know I hate that name.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“I’m curious as to what you’re doing in Fairfield, Peter, is your flock not in Garrison?”
“My flock is all who believe, sir, but I was giving a sermon at the church.”
“Ah, spreading the faith.”
“Yes, sir,” the priest replies, “And where is Prince?”
“I’d hoped he’d be here on the train but he’s dealing with another matter.”

The tall man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a brown envelope.

“There is a man coming into your town, a runaway.”
“A runaway?”
“He started a fight with his commanding officer when he refused to execute the prisoners their band had taken. The officer was killed.”
“And the prisoners?” the priest asks.

The tall man chuckles.

“He couldn’t save them.”
“And now he’s hiding.”
“Yes.”
“And what has my current profession have to do with this?”
“You’re still a rider, Peter, you still ride. Your other jobs are meaningless,” the tall man says, his eyes shining darkly.

The priest nods.

“He is a believer and he and his son have been blessed in every town they pass through.”
“Blessed how?”
“Baptism.”
“I see,” the priest whispers, “so he’s worried about his soul.”

John cocks the barrels on his pistols.

“He believes he can be saved. Foolish.”

The tall man turns towards the curtains. His eyes open wide. John bursts through the shades, pistols drawn. He trains one revolver on the tall man’s head, the other he keeps steady on the priest. The guard’s weapon is raised. The tall man laughs.

“John, my boy, what a surprise.”
“Shut up.”
“You’ve grown.”
“Shut up.”
“Did Paul train you well?”
“I said shut up!”

John strikes the tall man across the face. The tall man laughs again, clutching his face, blood pours from his lips.

“I like this side of you, John, the hunter side, not the prisoner you were.”
“I’ve come to kill you,” John spits.

The priest reaches slowly for his bag, John fires above his head.

“Keep your hands up!”
“Drop the gun!” the guard shouts.
“That’s good, son, keep your gun on John,” the tall man replies, “he has as many guts as the bastard father who raised him.”

John shoots the tall man in the arm. The tall man grasps his shoulder, laughing wildly.

“Good, John! Good. I love your anger. Tell me, John. How’s your wife?”
“You shut up.”
“Is she still lying dead in the fields, rotting while the birds and bugs pick at her? Just like in Barrow’s picture?”
“Barrow’s dead.”
“Pity,” the tall man replies.
“You’re an animal.”

The tall man smiles.

“That I am, John. That I am,” he replies, licking his lips.
“Do you have any last words?”

The tall man laughs.

“Last words? How honorable of you. I have a few. But first let me ask you, what passenger car did you enter from?”
“Enough of this,” John whispers, his hand tightening on the trigger.

“Because I’m sure you met the young mother in the middle compartment.”

John stops.

“Oh yes, I know about her. She’s starting a new life. A believer in God as well. Isn’t that right, Peter?”
“She was at my sermon, sir.”
“Good. Now I’m sure you came expecting to kill me and go down in a blaze of glory. And that is true. But if you kill me my man back there will kill you. And it won’t stop there. Peter and him will go in the back and murder that woman and her child, won’t ya’ll?”

The guard nods.

“Yes, sir.”

The tall man turns back to John.

“And it won’t be quick. They will rape her. And then they will make her watch while they use her baby for target practice. Oh, she will cry. She will cry when she sees what they do to her child. And after they cut her throat they will find her husband in the next town. If you kill me you will destroy another family.”

John shakes and glances around. The entrance door stands a few feet away. Outside the plains rush by.

“This isn’t over,” John says.
“Indeed it isn’t, John.”
“I’ll come back for you when you have no one to hide behind.”
“It’s a long walk to the next town, John.”

John smiles and fires up into the air, turning towards the door. He presses his weight against the door and pulls the handle. The guard fires once as John leaps from the train. The bullet blows away a chunk of the doorframe, sending splinters flying into the air. John lands hand in the desert sand.

He sits up, back arched, revolver drawn and trained upon the train. The tall man stands in the open doorway, his own black pistol drawn. The two stare each other down, their fingers resting on the triggers. The tall man holsters his weapon. John does the same.

"Not now, John," the tall man whispers, "but soon."

The tall man stands and watches as John grows smaller and smaller until he’s gone. He takes his seat. The guard approaches him slowly.

“Sir?”
“What is it?”
“Do you still want the woman dead?”

The tall man laughs.

“Don't be ridiculous-”

He draws his gun and shoots the guard twice through the gut. The guard falls hard to the floor, his eyes rolling back into his skull. He moans and chokes once. The tall man shoots him again through the back of the head. The guard twitches once and lies still.

“After all, I’m not a monster,” he whispers.

Together the tall man and the priest laugh while they watch the blood puddle underneath the guard’s corpse.

***

John drags himself up, watching as the train pulls away into the sunset, he screams out towards the tall man.

“I will find you! As long as I live, I will hunt you! The last of the old riders shall fall!”

John looks up into the blazing sun and dusts himself off. He stoops to pick up his pistols and holsters them. The shining rail glitters in the sunlight. John begins to follow the railway, knowing that wherever it leads will take him to the tall man; the animal.