Nowhere Men

Chapter two: Blondie

WARNING: This chapter contains violence, blood, and emotional abuse

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A few hours before the siege on Plain Hollow

"Flint n-no! Please! I-"

A gunshot, and the sound of an instrument breaking, shuts the poor fella up, and he falls with a thud, staining the ground a deep red. Everyone else watches quietly as Flint cleans his gun, none of their eyes, except for mine, on the dead man. none of their eyes on the dead man, except mine. A few birds have already begun to circle over our heads. Even the sunset, with its soft, pretty colors, feels hot...and suffocating.

"Blondie."

I glance up, shaken outta my thoughts, and take a few steps towards Flint. He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag before finally speaking. "I'm gon' ask 'gain." He mutters, his voice low. "Didja kill the rest of 'em?"

I nod, and he hums in response before turning to the men behind me. "Rocco, Amos. Git rid of the body, now."

The two men heave the corpse into their arms without a word, and rush to find the proper place for disposal. Flints turns his attention towards the other five men who stand to the side, some watching Amos and Rocco, others with their eyes obediently on the dusty ground. "Th'rest of ya." He mutters, and they immediately come to attention, eyes on him. "Git goin' n' prep. Keep yer 'monicas on ya." Like loyal pack dogs, the men run off towards camp, the fire in the distance shines like a small beacon.

"You stay." He mutters. I don't move.

Flint and I stand together in silence, watching the sun sink behind the horizon. It should feel cooler now, but the heat stubbornly remains and, as if on purpose, a small gust of wind blows sand into my face. I shake my head and wipe the grime off, spitting to the side.

Flint glances at me, and blows a puff of smoke out with a sigh. "Don'cha hate it when folks lie, Blondie?"

I nod, but don't dare look back at him.

Flint don't bother to wait for an answer, and continues. "Morris shouldn't 've never lied t'me. Pity, he was real good with a gun." He pulls the cigarette outta his mouth and passes it to me. "Yer good with a gun, ain' t'ya, Blondie," he asks, though it sure don't sound like a question. I place Flint's cigarette between my lips, take a breath, and blow the smoke out in a small cloud.

It flies up into the air before disappearing and, for a moment, I envy it. Somewhere, high above, higher than I could ever reach, that smoke will make itself a home in the clouds. Become part of them.

It ain't fair.

I take another drag of the cigarette and its acrid smell fills my nose.

Flint's hand on my shoulder brings me back to reality and I gather the balls to look back at him. His face, usually painted on with a sneer and narrowed eyes, is calmer. Thoughtful, maybe. An alarm blares from inside my mind.

"Got a job for ya, Blondie," he mutters, pulling out the tattered and worn down map. I watch as his finger runs over the printed roads, before it lands on a small town. The faded name reads 'Plain Hollow,' and I nearly laugh at it. What could be so special about a little place called Plain Hollow? But Flint clearly has a plan for it, because he looks dead serious.

"This town here," he explains, digging his finger harder into the map, "is what we've been lookin' for all this time." He pauses, eyes quickly shifting from the map to mine. He's waiting for some sort of response from me, but I can't figure out what he wants me to say.

He adds on, "Our new headquarters. Problem is, it's full of goody-two-shoes who'll fight tooth an' nail for it." He stares back at me and with a crooked smile, he murmurs, "I need ya t'...take care of 'em. All of 'em. Y'know what I'm sayin'?"