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Description
The sun slowly broke it’s zenith as it descended toward the empty road ahead. It was a particularly hot day in the desert, more so than usual. It had nothing to do with the heat from the sun or the pavement the wagon currently rumbled across. It was the cloaked individual riding shotgun, her face beat red and her eyes darting everywhere except at the driver, though there really wasn’t much to look at out there but rocks and the occasional tumble weed.
The driver, a gruff looking man with a sour look in his eye and always puckered up ready to spit, chuckled a little bit. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Eh, lot’s a people have that problem at your age.” He tried to console but his companion didn’t seem to hear him as she continued to keep her focus someplace else. Shrugging he snapped the reigns, egging the mule to move just slightly faster.
The wagon bumped a hole in the patchwork road, sending its contents to raddle about. His passenger jumped a bit causing a second chuckle. “You need to learn to relax.” He paused thinking that sentence over. If anything he should have been the one scanning the road for signs of trouble and she should have been the one to console him not the other way around. After all it was her job to protect him until they made it to East Town.
When they first began their journey she had been quiet and kept to herself. Which was alright, most hired guns did their job and moved on. No need to form attachments. Though this one had come to him by pure chance. He wasn’t a particularly rich, in fact far from the very idea, and he only ever hired extra protection when going through the Bad Lands once or twice. But seeing how they were both heading in the same direction he allowed her to come along.
That wasn’t to say the road to East Town was safe, far from it. He wasn’t stupid and he had been on this route for most of his life. Any troubles it could have given him, he could take care of. But his companion was a little worse for wear. She hide behind a cloak and a well-placed hat to not only keep the sun off of her but any prying eyes. She had on some boots that had been wrapped a few times with cloth and a bit of duct tape.
“I know. Sorry.” She whispered but didn’t make eye contact.
The trader blinked a few times before his brain decided to kick in. It was the first time she spoke in hours and that was even after some of his rather not funny jokes he had picked up while scavenging a few weeks back. “Nah. It-It’s alright.” He stuttered.
He starred out into the endless desert again, hoping for a tumble weed to pass by or something. Nothing. After a few moments he made up his mind, stopping the wagon completely. She starred wide eyed at him before he waved away her concerns. Reaching into the back he took out his graphophone and a record. “I don’t normally play this but…this might help…” He let his words linger as he began cranking it a few times he placed the record under the bench and then applied the needle.
It started low as rain drops of a piano began. It was soft and delicate, slowly titling in and out of some forgotten tune it was trying to work through. Three keys tapped quietly in the back ground then soon flowed with the melody of the foreground. That’s when the saxophone weaved it’s way in with a distant sound of days long passed. It was an enchanting piece and one of the trader’s favorites. It calmed him at times and others it seemed to get him in a silently good mood.
His companion grew a little less tense able to smile a little. With a snap of the reigns they were off again with a slightly more serene dialog between them. No words were said but the melody took them away off into the distance.
It didn’t last. Just over the horizon a small dot zigzagged along the golden sand. It was hard to tell which of them had sighted it first but his companion was the first to realize it was getting bigger and moving rapidly toward them. The record broke into a long complicated sequence as the dot phased into the sand and gone from sight.
The trader pulled on the reigns. The old iron mule stopped and snorted, fresh steam exiting its nostrils. His companion bit her lip. “You don’t suppose that was a mirage?”
No. No it wasn’t. He saw it too. A loud clicking could be heard over the record. “SNAPPERS!” Of course, this was Snapper territory, they always nested out here at this time of year. He wanted to mental kick himself as he made a jump to move the needle but it was too late. He knew, deep down, what was going to happen and even when it did he still felt his heart stop. The creature leaped from the grainy soil next to them a fresh row of teeth presented themselves to him. He gulped and knew this was the end and all due to a careless mistake.
It is often said upon impeding death that one’s life flashes before their eyes. While it did start he never got to finish and it somehow conveniently stopped at one of the hot nights he had as a young man. What shattered his dreams was the loud banging that had shattered his eardrum to his right. The cloak was missing and the biggest six shooter he had ever seen toppling the hairy beast to the ground in agony.
His mouth was agape as he took in the young sleek woman before him. While she wore nothing out of the ordinary; Scarf, shirt, suspenders, pants that anyone who’d been out here long enough would have. Before she was a quiet, delicate flower full of innocents, she still had all that but the mere presence of a smoking gun in her hand was baffling.
The record jumped into its saxophone solo and that’s when all hell broke loose. Another of long legged fur ball leapt from the sand, the woman swerved on her heel and sent another volley of shots its way, the creature’s mouth blown away in red confetti. The clicking grew louder, snapping the trader back to his senses. He whipped the reigns extra hard and the mule began again.
“Grab the reigns you need to reload!” He called to her, reaching for his rifle. A third creature clicked their way, landing on the back with a thump. A second gun filled the young woman’s other hand and this one was white but just as large. She fired both of them, dropped the beast with a thud.
“I’ll be fine.” She said in a hushed tone. The trader starred at her as the wheels started to turn in his mind; her guns could only fire six shots each and yet she was firing volley after volley without so much as a pause.
She drew in her weapons to her chest as she scanned their surroundings. Her eyes were wide but her breath was calm and controlled. Yet, It wasn’t till her gaze fell upon the trader that she seemed to remember where she was and her face blushing a bit.
“That was some interestin’ shootin” the junk trader stated cautiously.
She sat back down on the bench, curled up with her legs in her arms. She nodded at his comment and was downcast at the very sentence. Though the trader felt a pinch bad for saying it, his years of hard living had kept him from submitting to her questionable innocence. He could have asked her to explain herself, he most likely would have gotten an answer but if he’d learn anything from his travels it was never to look a gift horse in the mouth, and this peculiar event was no different.
Letting the matter drop he eased the iron mule along. The graphophone still playing as the song was reaching it’s last phase with the piano and saxophone trying to outdo each other but still keeping it running smooth.
“Seven.” She said. “Seven death sentences and because of it I can never see my-them again.” It was a quiet confession and one the trader barely heard over the record. She starred down at the wooden bench twitting her thumbs, her eyes watering a bit. It hurt her to admit it and the trader silently understood. It was rough living out here.
Clicking. A Snapper leapt out at the mule and chomped a bit into it’s iron frame, the cogs in it wailed and steam poured into the sharp maw. Before the trader could even yell out, the young lady was already in the air with a rifle in hand. Latching onto it’s back she fired straight through the creature’s cranium, blasting away any chance for it to escape.
The beast fell and so did the mule. The wagon raddled to a halt. The trader hopped off the bench cursing up a storm and did his best to examine the damage. The mule was the only valuable thing he had. All of his wares combined over the last year could even add up to something like this and this mule was used to the point of serious rusting by the time he got it. The cogs inside still raddled and the mule itself stuttered.
The trader spat a few more curses. The mule could be repaired if there happened to be a metal smith in town willing to work for a favor. That was just best case scenario. There was no way it would make it to East Town in this condition. “We’ll be lucky if it lasts till sundown.” It still worked and his merchandise was still intact.
“I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”
The trader shot her a glare. “Excuse me?” She stood there stock still. Her innocent look had no power over him now and the deathly glare he bore down on her caused her to eep away. It wasn’t fair of him to take his frustration out on her, she did do her job and protected him. At the moment though, he really didn’t care.
The woman starred down at the pavement and drew tiny circles in the sand. “I-I thought it just meant me. I didn’t know.” The trader only answered with a raised eyebrow. He was not in the mood. She then rolled up her sleeve and revealed a message writing in ink on the inside of her arm.
Keep quiet to East Town
The record ended on a low note.