Spoiler! :
Part 2
“Again, I’m sure you found this letter and are currently reading it. In that case, I congratulate you. Not many would have decided to follow me this far. I can tell you’re wondering why I left this note here of all places. Why I would leave proof of my passing, of my deeds. I want you to know I have nothing against Wilders. They follow God’s path better than most of the ‘civilized’ places I visit. Normally, we get along. However, these tried to divert me from my path, tried to end my journey before it was complete. And I’m afraid I just can’t die yet. I do this because I have my duty, and I shall not be driven from it. I leave this as a warning; this is what happens to those who will try force me off my path.”
The note ended there, but I stayed and tried yet again to figure out who my quarry was. He wasn’t a preacher; someone telling others lies to line their pockets. He wasn’t a killer, one who ends the life of others indiscriminately. I stood there staring at the paper, wondering who he was. He talked about paths, yet I was unable to see the one he marched on. The only thing I could understand was his words on his duty. I knew about duty, about service to something greater than myself. I guess I would have to see whether my belief in mine was greater than his belief in his. Unfortunately, this time he didn’t leave directions. I guess he wanted me to stop here, but if that’s what he wanted, then he was going to be in for a surprise.
I left the Wilder graveyard behind and continued on my journey. I made my way along the road, and eventually started down a highway that cut through a valley. It was overgrown already, nature already retaking man’s foolish attempt to impose on it. Up north, people were still afraid of the woods. Not like in the Remains, where nature is pretty much dead from fire. Nature still tries, though; the animals that wander the Remains are proof of that. As I traveled down that lonesome highway, I saw very few signs of life. It felt as if I were traveling down some sort of sacred path. There were few others on the road, one or two lone Wilders who left me to my wanderings. I tried to approach them but they usually raised weapons and threatened me away. I didn’t kill them, didn’t think it was worth it. I respect fellows of my kind. I did find one Loner, a scavenger making his way north. I asked him if he’d seen my quarry. He told me that he’d seen the man of my description head north and take the first turn off into the woods. We stayed and chatted about a few other things, politics of the Remains, new caches that had been found, that sort of thing. However, we both knew we were loners, and even though companionship can be enjoyable, we separated and I continued on alone.
I found the path he talked about, the one that split off from the highway. I followed it into the woods, the trees one of the few things not hit by death in the Remains. Other places, the trees and lakes are dead. Here in the north, where civilization refused to wander; the fire hadn’t scorched and killed the land. I followed the path and eventually came across something I hadn’t expected to see, yet it made perfect sense. The man who followed the old faith had made his way to one of the few places it existed. In a clearing was a small, stone chapel. The building was a small affair with a steeple and empty glass windows. Something had long since knocked them out. It rested silently in the road, a testament to Man’s continuing attempt to impose his will onto nature.
The road continued on, but I felt sure this is where my quarry stopped. The doors were slightly off their hinges, and I cringed at their squeaking when I pushed my way inside. The empty windows still let in light, creating a somber effect. The inside of the chapel was small, looked to be about one room. There were some broken and shattered pews on either side of the aisle, yet most seemed to be in decent condition. The aisle went from the door to the center of the raised stage. At the far end of the room, the symbol of the old faith stood tall and proud. At the base of the symbol was an altar with one tall candle lit, and in front of that was a kneeling man with a large cross strapped to his back. The man wore a sleeveless leather jacket and dark pants. I stood there, but I didn’t wait long. The man seemed to finish his prayers and then stood up, turning towards me. I got a decent look at him, even from the other end of the room. He seemed about my age, past middle age but not yet old. He had a thick, long beard that hung down to his chest, and long, unkempt hair. His chest was bare except for the jacket. Crosses were burned into his skin, branding him with signs of his faith. I heard him walk forward, his heavy boots thumping the hardwood floor of the church. He reached the end of the stage and stood there staring at me. We looked at each other for a few minutes, appraising each other, trying to see who would draw first. Eventually he asked,
“Are you the one they sent against me?”
“Yea,” I reply.
I see him grin through his beard.
“You’re a brave one. Not many in the Remains would choose to follow me the way you have. Tell me, who are you?”
I stand there, wondering if it would be easier to shoot him now. I decide to hear him out, since he didn’t appear to have any weapons on him.
“My name is Samuel Gray. I’m required to ask if you are going to come peacefully. Or are you going to make this easy on me?”
He dropped his smile and spread his arms out in a welcoming embrace as he replied,
“Man’s law dictates that I pay for something I did. I let them string me up as a punishment, but I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. You see, a higher court has dictated my path, and I obey.”
“Did your ‘higher court’ dictate you slaughter an entire town of innocent civilians?” I challenged.
He dropped his arms and stared at me as he answered,
“I failed in my task, and I am repentant. But know that the people aboard the Gambler were anything but innocent. They lived in sin, engaged in acts of depravity and wickedness. This was a town that had lost its way. There was no hope for my words to reach them.”
I snorted,
“So because they didn’t follow you, they deserved to die?”
He sighed and said,
“I am not an agent of the church, trying to bring everyone around to my path. I know that my path is mine alone. My only goal is to lift those who are lost in their selfishness. I am not here to spread my religion, it is mine and mine alone. I am here to spread its teachings of peace and righteousness. And those who refuse it, those who choose to ignore sense and engage in their own selfish desires, they are found guilty and punished.”
“And what gives you the right to judge us? What makes you our judge, jury, and executioner?”
I countered, growing ever angrier with him.
“I have seen the truth. The fires that burned the world weren’t there to destroy, they were there to purify. We had become corrupt, greedy, straying from our path. God knew this and knew that we had to reset, to try again. And now that the world has burned, we must follow the path he set for us. We cannot wallow in the sin, we cannot return to the ways of the old world. And it is my task to lead us.”
That’s when I knew he was wrong. His words were correct, that the old world was corrupt and wrong. He was right when he said that people needed to care for each other, and not destroy each other. But by saying that he was the one to show the way, he engaged in the oldest sin of all. And that’s when I knew that he deserved the punishment he earned. Pride gets us all in the end. It’s what causes us to destroy ourselves, and to struggle on after we do so.
“You say you have a task, that you can’t die yet. Let’s see you prove it.”
I raised my rifle, and saw him pull a pistol from inside his jacket. A gunshot resounded, shattering the sacred silence of the area around.
The town of Gambler was a town of debauchery, a town of gambling, lust, and a straight path into hell. It’s now a mass grave, a message saying sin leads only to one thing. If you head there now, you won’t find the prostitutes peddling their wares, or the con men trying to get you to gamble your riches away. No, the town of Gambler holds only one thing. In front of it, on the little bridge connecting the boat to the dock is a man sized cross with a sleeveless leather jacket and an old lever action rifle hanging in the center.
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