“Holy shit, he’s got tobacco!” Jamie shouted with a wide-eyed grin.
“Damn it and me without my pipe,” Oliver said glumly.
“No pipe necessary here, these is rolled in paper you see. Damn fine roll job it looks like too,” Jamie pointed out.
The priest dropped the last four cigarettes from the pack, lit each in turn and then held them up to the other riders. Jamie snatched one up eagerly and with a long pull burned down about half of its length before exhaling the smoke, which he followed quickly with a long sigh. Oliver looked at his cigarette a bit more dubiously and then took a few tentative puffs.
“It’s not bad, real fine quality I admit, but still it seems wrong without a pipe,” Oliver admitted.
Cort suddenly stopped smoking his and held it in front of him for a moment. Then he crushed out the burning tip, ripped off the paper and poured the tobacco into his hands. He then packed the finely ground leaves into his bottom lip. The small wad made a visible bulge in his lower lip, after a moment the cavalryman grinned and then spit.
The group stood in a small circle, everyone still feeling the afterglow of their feeding and enjoying the simple pleasure of the tobacco. Jerry stood at the center, feeling terrified; he was just an out of place onlooker now, caught up in a terrible dream. Movement caught his eye, and he turned. The remaining half a dozen nameless souls that he had walked the path with just a short time ago were now all standing. Each was now gray and shriveled, their skin reminding him of the packets of beef jerky he used to buy from the break room vending machine. Their clothing hung of their skeletal frames limply now, and it was the only way he could tell them apart. Skin color, hair, and even sex had seemed to have withered away from them. The wounds they had received from the attack were gone.
The desiccated souls stood silently together, all of them now starring in the same direction. The direction the path, wait, where was the path? Jerry realized that the path and even the derelict houses that had stood along it were now gone. They all stood in the center of a vast and desolate plain. The insurance adjuster spun in a slow circle, as far as he could see there was nothing, just hard nearly flat rocky ground, topped by an unbroken pale red sky. The dried-up souls began to walk again, moving at a slow lumbering shuffle. Though the path was gone, they kept moving in the same direction. As Jerry watched them, he could feel it, the pull in his chest, an urge to move that way as well.
“Wh…what’s that way?” Jerry asked.
He pointed after the walking souls, his urge to join them overcoming his fear of the riders.
“Why don’t you take a walk and find out?” Jamie replied with a smirk.
“Aye, and then come back and tell us all about it!” Oliver added, and he and Jamie shared a chuckle.
Shinji rejoined the group a moment later, arriving in a clatter of hooves and a swirl of dust.
“Shinji, report,” Cort commanded.
“Minii Ner Shinji!” the warrior shouted.
“Yeah, you’re fucking Shinji! Did you see anything out there?” Cort demanded, gesturing at the horizon.
In reply, the warrior simply returned the Cavalryman’s gaze.
“Worst fucking scout ever!” Cort said dismissively, and the rest of the group chuckled again.
The warrior dismounted and walked over to join the group. As he approached, Father Callahan held out the last of the Lucky Strikes to him. The Mongolian looked down at the offered cigarette cautiously and then seeing the other riders smoking accepted it. Shinji placed the cigarette between his teeth and held it there carefully. Jamie just shook his head and grinned as he watched the warrior mimicking their smoking.
“Don’t even bother with the heathen priest. I’ll take his smokes from here on out, no point in wasting good tobacco on him,” Jamie said.
“That’s it, that’s all I had. There isn’t any more…” Jerry mumbled in confusion and then a moment later lamely added, “I’m sorry.”
Jamie laughed out loud, and the rest of the group chuckled along with him. The priest did not laugh; he looked at the frightened man with a look of regret.
“I’m sorry my boy,” he said.
Jerry could hear the regret in his voice, he looked up and met the priest’s gaze. He found old eyes in the young face, but more startling and in turn terrifying than that, was he found them full of pity. For the first time since arriving in this strange place, Jerry felt truly afraid.
The Trail of Regrets
The Highwaymen rode hard across the plane; their horses kicking up a long trail of dust in their wake. Cort as always rode at the center, with Oliver and Jamie flanking him on each side. Shinji rode out on the far left and opposite him the priest on the right. The insurance adjuster rode behind him and even from here the cavalryman could see the pain and discomfort on the greenhorn’s face. Cort forced himself to stifle a grin and then scanned the horizon. Nothing as far as the eye could see, it was time for a little change of scenery.
“Jamie, the canyons,” Cort shouted.
“Why? This is bullshit, nothing is chasing us, we got away clean,” Jamie shouted in reply, the dread plain in his voice.
“The canyons, right fucking now!” Cort demanded in reply.
Jamie shook his head, and the cavalryman watched him close his eyes. It didn’t take long at all, just another sign as to how much the young gunslinger hated recalling the place. It started as a dark spot on the horizon straight ahead of them. It seemed to approach at an unnatural speed as the very ground, cracked and splintered and created in response to Jamie’s dread. Cort slowed the group, and they stopped at the edge of the massive network of freshly formed canyons.
“You lead,” Cort said to Jamie, nodding towards the narrow path that led them down and into the maze-like network.
“Big fucking surprise there,” Jamie mumbled in reply and led the group down the rocky path.
Cort took one last furtive look around at the plain around them and again, he saw nothing. Perhaps it was just too many years of this type of work. You always hit fast; then you run, get yourself lost in the weeds for a while. But what was the point of it all then? Cort asked himself and was immediately surprised at himself for asking the question. It was the melancholy he knew, the odd thoughts and feelings that fluttered at the back of his skull after every feeding. Sometimes, he almost thought of them as …memories? The cavalryman pushed the thoughts down, just as he had done countless times before. He cracked his neck and then followed Jamie down the path. The rest of the group trailed in behind him.
Jerry swayed painfully behind the priest; his ass had long ago grown numb. He openly stared at the canyons, rocky outcroppings and pillars that surrounded them now. The place seemed to have a weight to it Jerry thought. It was the same feeling that he got from long abandoned buildings or old churches.
“What is this place? Where did it come from?” Jerry asked the priest’s back.
“These are some canyons near where Jamie grew up,” the holy man replied.
“Okay,” Jerry nodded and then added, “what?”
The priest shook his head slightly. “Jamie and his older brother use to play here when they were kids. Then one day they got themselves lost. Jamie found his way out; his brother didn’t. Jamie and his father searched the canyons for days. I guess you could say; it was a turning point in his life.”
“That’s terrible,” Jerry said.
But in the same mechanical way, he did when he saw a car wreck on the highway or when someone burned the coffee in the break room.
“But how is it…here? Just a moment ago there was nothing, just as far as you could see.”
The priest shook his head again. “This is hell kiddo, and it’s personalized for each and every one of us. As you walk through it, the worst, most terrible moments of your life will be laid out before you. Jamie can call up this place because, for him, this is a bit of his own personal hell. All it takes is a strong will, a little life in your veins and this place is more than happy to remind
you of the worst moments of your life.”
Now it was Jerry’s turn to shake his head. None of this was making any sense he thought. But as they rode past a stone pillar Jerry glanced down, and he could see a bloody handprint on the rock. It was about 3 feet high and the print of a child. His eyes snapped back up to stare at the priest’s back.
“What am I doing here?” Jerry asked.
“In Hell? I haven’t the foggiest, but we just met, give me time and I can usually figure it out.”
“No…I mean, of that I have an idea. I mean, why am I here now? Why did you take me with you?” Jerry asked.
“Why? Would you rather be walking with those other corpses right now?” asked the priest.
Jerry took a moment to think about it and then replied, “no.”
“That’s too bad, just for a moment I was starting to think you may actually have some brains. But no, it looks like your just one of us now, doomed to drag this out for as long as possible it seems.”
“What do you mean? What’s in that direction?” Jerry hesitated to ask.
“You mean that direction that is pulling at you? That is calling out to everyone one of us, urging us all to follow?” The priest paused and took a breath.
“Honestly kid, I don’t know. None of us here does, but I have a few ideas. But I think your original question was more set on the here and now and that’s a much easier answer. The Lieutenant is dragging you along for yours smokes, plain and simple.”
“But I told you, I don’t have any more, you smoked them all,” Jerry said, his voice had a nasal whine to it.
“I mean the smokes in your briefcase there,” the priest said.
“There isn’t anymore, that’s what I’m trying to say!” Jerry replied.
“Well, if I were you I would check again.”
“What?” Jerry demanded.
The priest stopped the horse abruptly and turned back in his saddle just far enough to see Jerry’s face.
“Look, again.”
Jerry let out a breath and pulled the briefcase awkwardly up to his lap. He worked the combination quickly and then popped it open. There in one of the pockets was his half pack of Lucky Strikes, black lighter and all. Jerry just stared down at them dumbly.
“Throw them on the ground,” the priest said.
“What? Why?”
“Do it, throw them away, the case too,” the priest said again.
“No, I…” Jerry began, but the holy man cut him off by knocking the case and the pack of cigarettes from his hands with a well-placed elbow.
Jerry began to protest, but the priest wasn’t listening. He kicked the horse into a quick gallop urging them forward. Within a few strides Jerry lost sight of his case and the cigarettes, they left them behind, hopelessly lost in the maze of canyons just like Jamie’s brother.
Jamie hated this place. These weren’t the canyons from his childhood, not really. These were much worse, much larger, and much…darker. There was a quick movement in the corner of his eye, and the gunslinger fought the urge to turn and look. He knew what he would see, a fleeting glimpse of William before he darted away around a corner, the face of a perpetually 14-year-old boy, his face smeared with blood. A shiver ran through his entire body.
“Steady their boy-oh. Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Oliver said reassuringly from behind him.
“Why is it always the canyons?” Jamie asked.
“You have to admit it, son, nobody could follow us in here. Makes covering our back trail easy,” Oliver pointed out.
“Bullshit. That swamp you brought us through, what was it called?” Jamie asked.
Oliver took a breath before he replied. “It’s a bog; we called it Druid Wood back home.”
“Yeah, that place, that would work just as well I reckon. Wouldn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” the Dragoon admitted reluctantly.
“Yeah, but it’s always the Canyons. I think that bastard just likes to see me shake,” Jamie said his words dripping venom.
“Careful now, the Leftenant has his mean streak to be sure, but he doesn’t do nothing without a plan, and that you can believe. If he wants us to go riding through canyons’ then it’s for a reason,” Oliver said.
The rocky path split up ahead of them. Jamie stared down one way for a moment and saw a bit of shadow move, accompanied by one of William’s haunting giggles.
“How do you find your way?” Oliver asked after a moment. “It all looks the same to me.”
“It’s never the same, the path changes every time,” Jamie said quietly and then after a pause added.
“The trick is, in life, I was trying to find my brother. So in here, I just have to always choose the path taking me away from him. That’s the way out; here I’m not allowed to ever find him.”
“Did you find him the first time?” Oliver asked.
The Gunslinger didn’t reply. Instead he guided his horse down the path on the left. Oliver followed a moment later and behind him the rest of the riders.
A time later, Jerry was having a hard time deciding which he hated more, the endless maze of red rock canyons or the choking dust of the plain. On top of that, his arm was growing tired, and he was forced to shift his briefcase from one side to the other yet again.
“Oh shit!” Jerry shouted as he looked down at the briefcase in his hands.
“Surprised?” the priest asked.
“Ahhh…yeah,” Jerry admitted.
“Check the smokes,” the priest pressed.
Jerry nodded and unlocking the case, again found the half pack of Lucky Strikes in the pocket, as if they had never been disturbed.
“I don’t get it,” Jerry said simply, still confused at how the case had made its way back into his hands.
“You died lad, you crossed over, and that briefcase, not to mention that cheap suit came along with you. You think just throwing it away will separate you? I don’t know why you’re here, but that case is part of it, the smokes also, lied to someone about those I bet.”
Jerry was quiet, looking down at the brown leather briefcase. For maybe the first time he started to think about why he was here, what he had done or perhaps failed to do? Then the priest spoke again.
“We each carry with us the tools of our damnation son, yours is in that case, for the others, it’s their weapons, their bullet.”
Jerry couldn’t help but think about the Brazilian man that had tried to rob him back on the path, with his flag colored shirt and his black handgun. A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he spoke.
“And you? What do you carry?” he asked the priest.
In response, the Man of God held up his worn copy of the King James Bible.
“A Bible, you were damned by a bible?” Jerry asked.
“No son, not damned by it. Only a man can damn himself through his actions. The way I see it, it’s more of my penance, a constant reminder of my failures.”
“How so?” Jerry pressed.
“When you were alive, were you ever given good advice?” the priest asked.
“I guess so, sure.”
“Ever ignore it?” the priest said simply.
“Maybe.”
“Well, I spent almost 60 years carrying around, reading and preaching from a book full of good advice. And much of it I ignored.”
“What? 60 years? You look barely old enough to buy a beer,” Jerry pointed out.
But before the priest could reply, the path started to rise, and the group rode up out of the canyons and back onto the empty plain. Jerry looked back and just caught a glimpse of the last of the massive canyons reformed back into the hard-rocky ground behind them. Cort called for a halt, and the group gathered around the Lieutenant. Jerry couldn’t help but notice that Jamie had removed his cowboy hat and was wiping tears from his eyes. If anyone else saw it, none mentioned it.
“Okay, boys. We had a good day, and I made you a promise, so The Rose it is,” Cort said with a grin and the riders let out a shout in reply.
“That god damned worthless piano,” Cort said loud enough for all to hear.
“Those rickety chairs and that card table that wobbles,” Jamie shouted, almost sounding like himself again.
“The smell of old wood and mildew,” the priest added.
“And the bloody whiskey!” Oliver shouted, and the riders laughed as a group.
Jerry looked over and met Shinji's eyes for a moment, and he could see the warrior was obviously just as confused as he was.
“What’s going on?” Jerry asked the priest.
“We are going somewhere that’s not part of any of our lives, not a piece of any of our hells. A place we just kind of stumbled across out here in our travels. It’s harder to find, takes all of us concentrating, thinking about it to find it again,” he explained.
Jerry just nodded, not sure if he understood any of that, but at that moment Jamie let out a hoot. Jerry looked up and there on the plane in front of them a small town was quickly coming into view. Not forming like the canyons Jerry realized, this place was already here. The riders kicked their horses into a run and Jerry, and the priest was lost in a cloud of dust.
The priest kicked his horse into a run, and the pair trailed after the riders. The highwaymen rode hard eating up the ground between them and the small town. But as they rode down the main street, Jerry quickly realized calling the place a town was a little too generous.
The place looked like a ghost town straight out of a late-night western. A place where the silver or the water had dried up and the railroad had decided to skip. The main street was a series of empty rotting wooden structures, most little more than sand filled foundations. A two story saloon dominated the center of town; but it looked as if it had long ago collapsed in on itself. Cort held up a hand, and the group pulled to a halt. As the dust drifted past and then cleared, Jerry could see a single man was standing in the middle of the street. He faced away from them staring up the street and Jerry could feel that pull again, in the pit of his stomach, the urge to walk in that direction.
Hell's Highwaymen Page 3