by Talis Jones
Regrettably dressed in my dirt-caked clothes I browse through a rack of options. I find a pair of overalls with tapered legs and hold them up for Connors to see. “Would ya still let me tag along if I wore these?” I ask while wiggling my eyebrows.
“Oh there’s no way I’d leave you behind, kid,” he smiles fatherly.
My hand moves to hang them back on the rack but then I figure, why not? I kinda like them. I find a dark plum-colored top, then a pack of underwear and socks to complete the look. Moving towards the counter I spot a rack of hats and grab a baseball cap with a bold red “B” stitched on the front. I leave Connors to finish scrounging up supplies and return back to our motel room. Stripping down I toss all my unclean garments onto the floor and slip on my new ones.
One by one I scrub my laundry in the sink then hang it around the room to dry. I eye the brown leather coat Selma had given me when winter had struck. Cracked and worn it fits like a glove, the leather somehow still soft as butter. She’d said I could keep her other clothes but the jacket I had to promise to return. I’d promised but I’d crossed my fingers behind my back, albeit in the spirit of friendship. Besides, she was dead. Promise negated, right?
I hear the doorknob rattle and I immediately whirl around but it’s only Connors. “If you do my laundry I’ll find you some chocolate cake.” His offer is so serious I almost laugh.
“Deal.”
Uneasy about walking around a strange town without guns I stay behind scrubbing and wringing Connors’ smelly laundry while he lounges off to the diner to fetch us some late breakfast/early lunch.
When I’m finally finished I look around the room unsure of where else to hang clothes. Even mine will take ages to dry in this musty space. Leaving his laundry in a heap in the sink I find the lobby man at his desk.
“Do you happen to have a place I could hang up some laundry?” I query, knowing it’s a long shot.
“Sure do,” he smiles with sleep-weighted eyes. “Out back by the courtyard patio garden area.”
His head bobs worryingly close to collapse back into sleep so I thank him and depart. Arms loaded with our clothes I find the so called “courtyard patio garden” which is really just a cement square with a worn pattern stamped into it surrounded by overgrown weeds and bushes. Regardless there is a washing line strung up and I get to work hanging our clothes grateful that the scorching sun will make quick work of drying them out.
As I step into our room I see Connors waiting with two plates of food on the small rickety table and in his hands he holds a smaller plate with a little lump of chocolate cake. My chapped lips split apart from the wide enthusiasm igniting my grin.
CHAPTER 24
Rags and tired finger bones clean out the dust and polish the metal of the sizable pile of weapons scattered on the motel table before us. This is one of those actions that lulls your mind into a soothing rhythm and lets your thoughts float away and one thing has been worrying me ever since we left the forest behind.
“Do you know Lucas Helmsworth?” I ask out of the blue.
Connors’ hands go still for a moment before resuming their careful motions. “I’ve heard of him.”
“James was his son.”
At this Connors places down the pieces in his hands and fixes me with a hard stare but I keep my head turned down, focused on the soothing rhythm of cleaning my pistol. “The young man you shot?”
“He told me. He said if he brought Lucas the secret to Sanctuary that he’d be redeemed or something,” I share. Then I add, “I think they were on the outs,” hoping this would somehow make things less worrisome.
Connors shakes his head anyhow. “Doesn’t matter, kid. When Lucas finds out there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Maybe he won’t find out. I mean what are the chances?”
Connors’ steely stare returns and this time I’m caught in it. “Lucas Helmsworth will find out. Lucas Helmsworth is a name you don’t forget because Lucas Helmsworth looks for any reason to fluff his feathers and fire his guns. Lucas Helmsworth runs that part of the S.C. and he won't abide any action that challenges his authority.” He takes a deep sigh. “You killed his boy, kid.”
“It was him or me,” I whisper coldly.
His voice softens a bit. “I know. But when Lucas finds out he won’t stop until he’s got your name and blows it off the earth. It’s not hard to be a ghost in this country now but he’s got eyes everywhere and one day he just might find you and if you’re not ready then you’ll be swinging from a tree, a rope ‘round your neck and bullet bites in your corpse.”
Fear freezes my veins but it melts just as quickly. No point worrying about death when I was due to cross the threshold years ago and every day since. Only thing left to do is choose whether I let Lucas turn me scared or toughen me up.
Him or me. I choose me.
The sun’s reddish glow lowers in the sky making it more difficult to clean our guns in the dying light. I’m searching for any excuse to bail when suddenly music tickles my ears.
“Do you hear that?” I ask excitedly.
Connors cocks his head for a listen. “Yep.” And with that he drops his eyes back to the revolver in his hands.
“We should go check it out.”
“Not ‘til we’re finished. Unless ya wanna get up at dawn to finish?”
The thought deflates me. “Well I finished my pile and most of these are all yours anyway,” I point out. “So really, you’re the one holding us up.”
“Your pile was smaller,” he grunts.
“Come on, please?” I beg with a childlike grin lopsiding my face.
“Fine.”
“Thank you!” Grabbing my leather jacket I shrug it on before slinging on my shotgun, holstering my pistol, and sliding a second knife in my boot. Overkill for wandering down the street of a small dusty town perhaps, but it’s the day you relax that you find yourself with a knife at a gunfight.
Flinging the door shut behind me I nearly skip down the road following the catchy strums of a guitar. A campfire lit behind the diner illuminates a small crowd of faces. Two guitars, I note, are harmonizing while the waitress from the diner, Carol, shakes a large saltshaker half filled with rice beside the salt. I watch from the edge of the gathering mesmerized. It’s been ages since I’ve heard music besides Connors’ constant humming and occasional outbursts.
A shadow crosses mine and I turn to see Connors standing beside me. I smile knowing that he probably came so he’d stop worrying about me out here in the dark all alone. With a stern flourish the song ends.
“Anyone with a singin’ voice around here?” The redheaded, red bearded guitarist asks. His accent sounds like a girl’s I once knew in the Corral. They called her Shamrock.
I elbow Connors. “You gotta,” I plead.
He rolls his eyes at me. “Do you boys know Ghost Riders in the Sky?” he pipes up.
The other guitarist, with shaggy black hair and slanted eyes, smiles at him. “Ol’ Johnny? Sure do.” A light southern twang in his voice catches me by surprise.
A bounding pace bounces forth and when Connors’ deep voice joins in I feel my lips splitting all over again. He has a good singing voice but when coaxed out by instruments and an audience it becomes damn impressive.
Carol bops merrily with her makeshift shaker and even a few of the other locals join in for the chorus. Side note: Carol has a lovely singing voice and doesn’t crack even once. As for myself my feet begin tapping of their own volition, my body responding to the music and my brain doesn’t try to stop it.
The moment it all ends is the worst. Merriment and music is addicting I’ve learned, but the moon ushers our farewell.
“Let’s go, kid,” Connors says patting my shoulder. Turning towards the musicians he gives a genuine grin of thanks. “Thank ya boys, that was much needed.”
“Aw come on, stay a bit longer,” the redhead invites with a slight whine.
I look to Connors hopefully but the shake of his head puts my frown right ba
ck in place. “Sorry, we got an early morning tomorrow.”
With a wave we set off back for the motel when hurried footsteps stop us. “I’m Yuri,” the dark haired guitarist introduces himself. “And my fellow traveler back there is Jaycen.”
Connors shakes his hand. “I’m Connors.”
I notice that he doesn’t call me Sofia and wonder if he had guessed that the last time he did it’d been a mistake. “Hi,” I say without offering a name.
Yuri bobs his head in greeting. Rubbing his palms together he gets to the point of this exchange. “Jaycen and I are roamers but we haven’t run into any others in a long while. He’s great to play with but as company I can only handle him in doses. We were wondering if you two would be interested in riding with us for a spell? We’d be most obliged for the company.”
“A mighty tempting proposal but I’m afraid we’ve got a destination in mind,” Connors declines.
Yuri nods, disappointment clear on his face. “I hear ya. We had a destination once but we’ve long since given it up,” he admits. With a small, embarrassed chuckle he confesses, “We ran into one another while on the hunt for Sanctuary. We thought for sure it was real but let it go a ways back.”
Surprise flickers through me and I can hear it in Connors’ reply. “Sanctuary?”
“Yep.” Yuri’s boot scuffs the dirt revealing the discomfort he feels. He feels foolish but he doesn’t know that we’re believers too.
“How far did you get?” I ask curious. I trusted Connors but I’d still feel better if I knew we’d get there before I had one foot in the grave.
“All we heard was that we had to ride north,” Yuri answered.
“Pretty vague directions.”
“At one point we convinced an old clam to tell us that he heard it was someplace in the Dakotas.” Shaking his head ruefully he added, “Big place to search though. Big and almost completely devoid of landmarks. We got lost for a good while and almost dried up and died before we found our way by a group of roamers.”
I didn’t know what to say to that so I glanced to Connors and saw him working his jaw as he chewed his tongue in thought. Finally because I felt he was taking too long to respond I piped up lamely. “The Dakotas, huh?”
“Yes’m.”
“I don’t blame you for giving up,” I offer. “I would’ve hunkered down a ways back if Connors hadn’t latched onto it like a bloodhound.” It’s only after these words leave my mouth that I realize I’ve given away our supposed destination. Unsure if I’ve made a mistake or not I snap my jaw shut and stare down at my boots.
“You two looking for Sanctuary?” he cackles in disbelief. “Well best of luck to ya.”
“Where was this man you spoke to?” Connors requests, finally breaking his long studious silence.
“Just near the top edge of Nebraska,” Yuri smiled. “We’d be happy to show you the way. Like I said, we’re just roamers anyhow and we’d welcome the change in company.”
Something makes Connors hesitate. “We’re leaving early tomorrow,” he shares.
“We’ll see you there,” Yuri promises. We wait until he’s returned to the fire and picked up his guitar to jump in with the line Jaycen’s already strumming before turning our backs and finishing our return to the motel.
“What are ya thinking?” I ask once we’re inside.
“I’m thinking that I don’t know those two men and I don’t know how much I trust them,” he sighs honestly.
“Yuri seemed nice,” I volunteer. “And they can play really well. Plus it would be nice to have them along for the ride even if only for a short ways.”
Connors nods, his mind made up. “Just keep your eyes open,” he asks. “And I take offence at your insinuation that my company is less than adequate.”
“No you don’t,” I laugh. “If I haven’t gotten sick of you before now you can bet your life I won’t let you go.”
Too much energy buzzes through my limbs keeping me from rest, the music still wafting through the thin walls and keeping me afloat in consciousness. As if reading my mind the tune turns into a sort of lullaby and I drift off soundlessly. Dreams dance in my mind full of music and friends and nothing but good good times out on the open road.
CHAPTER 25
Sixteen hooves devour the earth, drumming a beat that powers our strength as Sanctuary looms ever closer. In silence four minds spin with memories and hopes, a humming song that keeps our hearts stubborn and true.
As we head towards the Dakotas I take in the landscape, imagining it for what it once was: endless fields of grass stretched so far they disappeared into the horizon, the taller grasses would dance gently in the breeze churning the land into a sea of greens and yellows and other colors that only exist in paintings anymore. I’ve never seen it but Connors has described the old world enough times for me that I’m sure I can picture it just right.
It must have been irresistible, all that simple beauty. I stare ahead at where the slowly descending sun just touches the edge of the horizon, soon it will crouch low with its hungry rays scraping all that wholesome life into its fiery jaws before it slips out of sight with a full belly and an aching darkness in its wake.
The men around me ride in determined silence, none seemingly interested in small talk or polite conversation. I sniff a whiff of some unannounced manly competition but say nothing. If they wanna ride trapped with nothing but a rising wind and their own thoughts for company then that’s their choice. I for one miss the blips of stories Connors usually shares on our rides. Privacy is a big thing with him but every once in a while our horses will slow down and we’ll find ourselves sharing just a little bit more.
It’s not always something deep or vastly important, usually it’s just the small things. I learned that Connors loves strawberry ice-cream, pickles, and a kind of dessert cobbler, but he hates pistachios, mushrooms, and car salesmen. I was introduced to his crazy Aunt Miya who would go wild when she caught him dipping his fingers into the pudding she’s making, and his Grandpop who worked a serious job on Wall Street but dressed as Santa Claus every Christmas, and his childhood dog Chutney who farted enough to poison an army but had a silly grin that stole every heart who saw it and had such a fierce loyalty that she stayed by his side when he was sick or scared or lonely.
He told me about the plains in the Midwest that stretch so far and wide it seems like you’ve gotten lost in a dream; the crisp smell of salt in the breeze by the ocean where soft gritty sand gets literally everywhere; the loud honking horns of yellow taxis, the blaring of music, and the low rumble of voices interspersed with laughter, and how all these sounds filled your ears to the brim when you stand in the middle of a city; and no matter how inky the night sky envelops the city, in Time Square bright lights keep the dreamers and con artists and tourists and locals and homeless and everyone protected in a bubble of artificial light that glows so bold and colorful it’s like the day never ended and the city never sleeps.
A cough catches me by surprise and I rub my eye carefully to dislodge the assaulting grain of dirt nestled within. The breeze is picking up quick and fierce. I hike my bandana higher around my face and tug my baseball cap down low. The day was warm but Yuri warned us about the dust storms that sweep through these parts so I’d suffered through our journey with my leather jacket finding myself glad for it now.
Lady has slowed down as the wind scrapes its gritty gusts against us like sandpaper. The speed with which this storm has risen frightens me and I nudge Lady towards the hunkered form of Connors atop Horse.
“What are we gonna do?” I have to shout my words across the small gap of space between us but even so I feel the wind snatching my words the moment they leave my mouth and cackling in the distance.
Connors gestures for me to keep close and we guide our horses towards Yuri and Jaycen. I can’t understand Connors’ words but they seem to get the message and end up forging through the thickening battering ram of dust following Jaycen’s lead. The storm has blocked out th
e sun and I lose all sense of time. I’m only keenly aware that the day’s light is fading and we’re stuck in a violent dust storm.
Moving at what feels like a crawl we finally emerge before the looming shadow of a barn. Hopping down I help Yuri hold the horses’ reins as Connors runs over to help Jaycen slide open the massive barn door. Once the opening is large enough to fit we hurry the horses inside and they shoulder it shut.
Yanking off my bandana I cough up a bit of dirt in my pipe and blow my nose horrified at the filth clogged inside. Sparing a splash of my canteen I rinse my face before taking a luxurious swig. I look around and see the others doing the same.
Once we’d stomped and shaken off all the dirt we could and unsaddled our poor beasts Connors gets to building a small fire in the middle of the barn, grateful for the dirt floor and cautious of any stray pieces of straw. I dig around for some cans of food. Lentil soup it would be for tonight.
As I stir the earthy meal in a pot by the fire I watch Jaycen and Yuri curiously. Conversation was brief and far between but they’d been friendly enough. “No music tonight?” I ask playfully.
Jaycen’s eyes turn in my direction and a teasing smile follows. “And risk all that devil’s dust getting in my guitar and ruining it? Not on my watch, kid.”
“Where are we?” Connors interjects suddenly.
Jaycen answers smoothly, “Hard to say.”
“But you knew about this place? You knew there was shelter nearby?” he pushes, although his questions sound more like facts daring to be refuted.
Jaycen joins us by the fire and I scoop him a bowl of soup. “Thanks, kid,” he nods. “I’ve been here before,” he adds to Connors. “I’ve spent a lot of time roaming these parts and it’s lucky we were nearby before our vision became nil.”
Yuri finishes brushing the last jittery horse and sits with us, accepting his meal with a smile. “We may be roamers but we stay in the unclaimed territories and when you travel near the edges it’s important to have a memory for hideaways.”