Nowhere Men

Chapter three: Murphy

WARNING: This chapter contains violence and animals in perilous situations

—

"So y'ain' givin' my 'monica then."

"I said no."

"Shit, sheriff c'mon..."

I don't say anything in response to Blondie's whining, I'd already denied him the little instrument twice now. Our conversations have been limited to trivial comments ("Forest sure looks big, sheriff" He says. "Yup." I respond. "River's gettin' a strong current." He says. "Yup." I respond... riveting), or demands for the harmonica. Somehow, we've been able to make it through the early morning without killing each other, and with the sun shining at its highest point, we've survived to the afternoon.

Not that I can celebrate the accomplishment. With my eye so intently on Blondie, I hadn't even clocked the change in light. Gone are the assorted hues of deep oranges and purples, now it's a vibrant blue sky, home to a sun that beams down from overhead. It's only now that I notice my shadow, my pitch black reflection, surrounded by the bulbous dark shapes of cloud shadows that trail along the ground.

How did I miss the change in light until now?

My mind goes to Porter, who had taken a liking to teasing me with the concept of "tunnel vision." Guess I never really thought about it, but when I focused on something, it became easy to lose myself in the work. He'd caught me plenty of times at my desk, eyebrows furrowed, and completely engrossed in paperwork. Apparently, it took him calling my name five times before I finally looked up and registered that there was, in fact, someone in the room with me. He certainly enjoyed getting a laugh out of that.

Porter...

My face falls into a grimace and the grip on my pistol tightens. Poor kid. Since I never returned to Plain Hollow, he and the rest of the town must think me a goner, thanks to that gang. I can't even be sure that I gunned any of them down; Blondie's comment from last night still echoes in my mind:

"Takes more t' do us in."

I replay the sentence plenty of times, putting emphasis on different words to see if the meaning changes.

Takes more to do us in, are they far sturdier than I assumed? Takes more to do us in, maybe the gang's bigger than I thought, what would it matter of any fallen members when more hide among the shadows?

It doesn't matter in the end. That little remark makes it clear that Plain Hollow isn't safe anymore. It doesn't help that Blondie's done nothing either. He doesn't even look guilty about it. Not so much as an apology. Since we began our trek back north towards Plain Hollow, or at least as close as possible, Blondie hasn't said a single word about the ambush or his group, which seems about right. He says one thing about them, and it could open the door for treason; they'd have to be like wolves, loyal only to the pack...

—

I'd seen it once, when I was very small, grabbing onto my mother's skirts as we stood out on the porch of the old family home. She'd kept ordering me inside in a frightened, hushed voice, but I couldn't stop watching, eyes wide with curiosity at the sight before us. Just a little off to the distance was a small pack of wolves, a muddled mix of grays and browns that would almost be impossible to see if not for the light of the sunset. They rushed side to side in a panic, snarling and whining, dust filling the air from their scuffle and streaks of blood splattering on the ground. The families that lived nearby had joined us, squeezed into the safety of our porch, the mothers nervous and the children more than intrigued. The fathers stood tall with stoney expressions and shotguns at the ready, but there was no clear sign of what had to be shot.