Spoiler! :
The fields are burning. Embers light fires that spread through the corn. Shades of ash billow upward spilling stains of gray upon the land. Screams of brothers and sisters echo in the night. High above, crows circle, taking in the slaughter.
The boy pushes back the brush to spy the men on black horses. The tall man upon the darkest mount surveys the destruction. His eyes, shadowed like canyons, piercing like knives, lock upon the boy. He smiles, his teeth reflecting the licked flames. He removes the flattened, ash stained hat from his head and lets his tangled mane fall. A revolver rests across his lap, black mass glittering, its silent form calling for blood. The man draws and fires. The child’s face distorts as he drops to the dirt.
The man holsters his weapon, deliberately stalling the moment of the kill, and lets the power of the boy flow through him. The smell of flesh permeates the earth. His smile fades as his men near.
He turns to throw another torch on the corn. The blaze spreads forth to light the black that surrounds the man, shaping his path. His horse trots towards the clearing and away from the flames. Darkness shrouds the man’s form as he approaches the cold night. In an instant, he’s gone.
* * *
John wakes. His heart beats fierce in his ears, his labored breath rising in shudders. A cold, familiar sweat drenches his back. He stretches out his arm, feeling for the safety and security of his love.
Rose sits in an oak chair across from John combing her long, brown hair in smooth strokes. She stares into the handcrafted vanity mirror, gaze shifting in the refection, following his movement. John slides his legs out over the bed and rests in silence. Rose sets the comb down upon the vanity’s counter.
“I remember building that for you,” John says.
“I remember too.”
“Took me three days to get the frame right.”
“You told me.”
John smiles and meets Rose’s stare through the glass.
“It was a gift for you.”
“My father was impressed," Rose replies.
“I didn’t build it for him. I’d have built it even if he hadn’t hated me.”
“I know.”
Rose makes her way to the bed, sitting beside John without speaking. John’s breathing slows as she places her hand upon his chest, her head against his. He holds her hand, comforted by the touch of her fingers as they dance across his own, never tiring of the feel of her soft skin against his rough palms.
“I love you. I do,” he whispers.
“I know.”
* * *
The cornfield sways with the wind, its stalks moving in quiet melody. The dying sun beats down upon the dry earth with the last of its strength. A patched scarecrow swirls in the breeze. With cross-stitched eyes it stands watch over its sanctuary.
John stands atop the porch steps and takes in the beauty of the land. From behind him a melody bursts forth.
John’s father sits in a rickety rocking chair and plays majestically upon his aged harmonica. The harmonica is his soul. His power. A part of him. His grandfather crafted the instrument long ago. Someday in the late hours, many years from now, the harmonica will be John’s. He finishes on a quiet note which echoes into dust.
“Beautiful, Pa.”
“Thank you, John.”
John’s father rises from the chair and moves to the front of the porch beside his boy. He raises a hand and surveys the field, squinting against the light.
“Droughts have been bad this year,” he says.
“What will we do?” John asks.
“We’ll be alright.”
“We always are?”
“We always are.”
The sun dips beyond the swaying fields. Rays of shaking color spill across the sky.
“It’s getting dark, you better get inside. Make sure your brother washes up," John's father says, rubbing his hand across the boy’s shoulder.
“Rose is probably laying out supper. You coming, Pa?”
“I’ll meet you there. I want to watch the sunset.”
“Like you did with Ma?”
“Like I did with your mother.”
John nods and makes his way up the steps. He pauses, fingers locked around the screen door, and calls back without looking.
“I’ll be inside.”
“Go on.”
John tugs at the screen and enters the house, leaving his father alone on the porch. John’s father stares at the sky. Tears well in his eyes and drops to the ground. More follow. He falls to his knees, his face in his hands. The sun sinks into the earth and all is dark.
* * *
“God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Watch over us in your paradise when we pass from this life into the next. Amen.”
“Amen.”
John sits beside Rose at the small dinner table. Across from them his father sits with Samuel, his younger brother. Steam rises from the feast laid before them. The meal passes in silence save for the clanking of silverware against dish. Minutes pass. The soft tick of the grandfather clock rises from the hallway. Finally, Samuel breaks the aging quiet.
“Pa?”
“Yes, Samuel?”
“Why do you never speak of your life before Ma, before the war ended?”
John’s father pushes his plate aside and spreads his hands across the table. The flame of the candle that sits in the center flickers in the empty air. Shadows spill across his face as he speaks, revealing all the features made gaunt by time and sorrow.
“Samuel, some things need to be kept silent.”
“You mean buried," Samuel says.
John’s father glances at his son, brow furrowed, eyes heavy. He shakes his head and taps his fingers gently against his glass.
“No, I just can’t say. I want to keep you safe. I’ve done wrong. Before your mother I was a bad man, and even after that I took many years to change,” he paused, taking a swig from the cup, “—I’m afraid. I’m afraid that if my past returns it will bring my old self with it and I can’t let that happen. I don’t want my sins to poison you.”
John’s father picks up his fork and resumes eating.
Samuel remains silent.
* * *
The Tall Man pushes his way through the band of men. He stands before an old, wood panel house, kept warm and safe by the family that resides within. Across from the structure stands a stable with barn, both aflame. The whining, neighing cries of the horses sound out, pleading for mercy in unknown tongue. Ash floats upon the wind and dances to the breeze, blazing red before falling into dust.
From inside the house sounds of struggle emerge. A gunshot echoes. The men fall silent. The frame door bursts open and two guards exit dragging a man with blazing red hair by the scruff of his pajama top. His eyes, partially obscured by tufts of uncombed curls, search wildly for some sign of hope. His sight falls upon The Tall Man and he freezes. The blood drains from his cheeks. The Tall Man stares back and though neither man speaks a world of stories is told. The man fights against his captors with renewed vigor, biting and flailing against their hold.
A second cry bursts from the house and a woman, still clothed in her blue, silk nightgown, stumbles through the doorway. Fresh tears cover the gown that cloaks her body, marked evidence of her struggles. She lands hard against the porch wood.
One of The Tall Man's guards kicks open the door as he emerges and leaps upon the woman, slapping her across the face again and again, lost in reckless fury. Welts form and blacken his victim’s skin.
“Dirty bitch bit me!” he screams.
“Take your hands off the lady,” The Tall Man says.
“But she bit me!”
“A lot worse will happen to you if you continue to question my word.”
The man relents, returning to the line of men behind his master. The cry of an infant arises from within the house. The last man exits pushing two young children, one a boy, the other a girl, onto the lawn. They tremble and cry and cling to one another. The Tall Man drinks in their fear, savoring it like some sweet nectar.
The two holding the redhead let him drop. He lies in the dirt and coughs against the dust. Despite the fires he shivers.
“That’s all of them save the brat inside,” the guard says, pointing to the prisoner, "he got hold of Carson’s gun and shot him, sir. He’s dead.”
The Tall Man’s eyes sparkle as he stares at the gasping man.
“Pity, Carson was a good man. Loyal. You were always loyal, Charlie, followed me for so long, till the war ended. Been seventeen years, hasn’t it?”
The redhead meets the killer’s cold gaze.
“Please. Please don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”
“They always say that. ‘You don’t have to do this.’ But I do, old friend. I do. I’ll wither and die if I let the idea of mercy take hold of me. I am no saint.”
Charlie’s wife whimpers and curls into a ball in the sand. His children hold each other tight. Charlie glances at them and back to The Tall Man. Shimmering tears run along the corners of his chapped lips, accompanying his pleas.
“Please. Just let them go.”
The Tall Man ignores the words.
“I heard you’re preaching now.”
The Tall Man raises his head and laughs up towards the darkened clouds. He paces around the fallen man, voice rising with the ashes.
“A preacher, Charlie! A preacher. Tell me something, does God truly forgive all? Does your God truly save the righteous and damn the wicked? Because last time I saw you, you were no saint. Did your God forgive you? Did he take you into his open arms and purify your past sins? Tell me, are you a purified man? What happened to your guns?”
Charlie bows his head and scans the land for some show of mercy.
“Sold them off a long time ago,” he says.
“Your family know about you, Charlie? They know what you done? You know what I think? I think you’re still a rider. A hunter. You killed one of my boys. Now that’s not something a preacher does. Did you like it? Did killing Carson take you back? Did it give you that rush you used to preach so passionately about, the thrill you got when you killed a man?”
“My wife knows, my children would know.”
“They all know now.”
Charlie chuckles. A sudden light flares in his eye. He sneers in reply.
“You ain’t a man.”
“What?” The Tall Man asks, his voice a sliver of sound.
“I said you ain’t a man. You’re something cold and vile, something spit up by the devil. You ain’t a man. You’re an animal.”
The Tall Man smiles. He lifts a hand and brushes away a speck of ash from his shoulder.
“Be that as it may, we came here to talk about you. You killed my man. You abandoned me. I can’t let that go unpunished.”
He glances from Charlie’s wife to his two children and back. The baby’s cries continue to rise in the burning air. Charlie shakes his head, the fire within him dampened once more, and weeps.
“Not them. Please, just kill me and leave.”
“I can’t do that. You’ll pay your debts, but you killed one of my men. Which one of them you hold least dear? Because I’m taking one. I leave the choice to you.”
Charlie shakes his head. His wife tightens her grip on the children, pleading to men who know no mercy. His lip trembles. He bites down and tries to stop the tears from forming.
“No. I can’t. Please.”
“Vengeance is a funny thing. It always has a way of evening the field.”
“Please," Charlie begs.
The Tall Man sighs. His voice deepens. His eyes shine black. Charlie stares into the empty orbs, his horrified face reflected back.
“I gave you an offer, Charlie. I think you’d be wise to accept.”
“Please.”
The Tall Man draws his revolver.
“Then I’ll take them all.”
Charlie lunges at The Tall Man who strikes him down with the butt of his gun. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth but he rises again and reaches for his tormentor. Two guards force him to the ground, smearing his face in the dirt. The Tall Man approaches his wife and children.
“No,” Charlie whispers, his voice cracked, will broken.
The Tall Man shoots the woman twice through the chest then turns and plants a bullet between the eyes of the children. Their bodies fall without sound. Smoke lingers up the barrel.
Charlie’s lungs burst as his screams stretch across the empty field, matched by those of his sheltered infant. The Tall Man looks to the house and back to the screaming man. He smiles. He walks the path up the porch steps and enters through the frame door. The band falls quiet. Charlie weeps. The baby’s cries continue. A shot rings out. They stop.
Charlie thrashes against the men, kicking and cursing and babbling without control. The Tall Man emerges from the house wiping a dirty rag across the barrel of his gun. He stops to check the sleeves of his shirt for stains before stepping out onto the lawn.
Spittle drips from Charlie’s lips. His eyes swell. The men relinquish their hold and he runs to his family, tripping over his own feet in his haste. He sinks to his knees and gathers his children in his arms, pressing their limp heads to his chest.
“Why? Why did you kill them first? Why did I have to see it?”
The Tall Man drops a revolver to the ground beside his prey. The weapon glitters in the light of the flames.
“I got one more bullet, Charlie. Pick up the gun and face me.”
The broken man continues to sob. The Tall Man places a hand upon Charlie’s shoulder.
“I know there’s a lot of hatred going through your heart, clouding your mind, I know. Just take pride in the fact that you raised them well. They’re in a better place, after all.”
Charlie reaches for the revolver and lifts it up, grip tight, eyes focused on the killer’s heart. The Tall Man is quicker. He draws his shining, black weapon and fires once into Charlie’s gut.
Charlie lets the revolver drop and sinks back. Blood blossoms against his stomach and spreads down his white pajamas in a pool beneath his hands. He looks down and strokes his children’s hair, whispering words of comfort they no longer hear. He raises his head and stares into The Tall Man’s hallow eyes.
“Animal,” he chokes.
“What?”
“Animal…”
The Tall Man listens as Charlie’s shallow breaths fade. He turns and marches back to his troop. His men stare at him with eyes full of wonder and fear, respect and hatred, parting as their master pierces their ranks.
The Tall man glances back at the burning house. His face reflects neither satisfaction nor anger. Rage nor contempt. The deed is done.
“Load up, we’ve got a long ride ahead.”
The men mount their horses. The Tall Man leads. Dust kicks up as they pass down the road leaving the fire that swallows the earth behind.
* * *
John wakes in a rush of fright. Rose sits up and grabs his arm. His palms run slick with sweat and numb from cold.
“Bad dreams?” Rose asks.
“Always.”
“Are you okay?”
John smiles. He takes hold of her hand and squeezes it gently.
“You’re here,” he replies.
“That’s not what I asked."
“You’re here, so I’m okay.”
“Okay.”
Rose kisses his cheek.
“And we’re okay?” she asks.
John reaches down and touches her stomach.
“We’re okay.”
He lies back down with Rose beside him. The feel of her breasts at his back, her warm breath against his skin, the touch of her hands upon his, soothes him. His shuddering stops and he stills.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“Goodnight.”
John closes his eyes and in a few seconds is swept away, his nightmares gone.
* * *
John pushes through the field picking ears of corn and placing them in the basket at his side. Harvest has come. John’s father hitches the wagon in preparation for the journey into town tomorrow. The hot sun beats down upon John and he wipes sweat from his brow. Samuel stands nearby trying hopelessly to match his pace.
“You’re doing it wrong,” John says, noting his brother’s work.
“What?”
“I said you’re doing it wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Samuel asks.
“I mean you’re doing it wrong.”
“How?”
John sets his stalk down and moves around Samuel. He takes hold of Samuel’s tools and mimics the process, his hands locked tight around the blade handle as he slides away strips of husk from the golden ear.
“You need to take all the husk off in straight motions. Not too slow, but not too fast either. Take it one strip at a time all the way down, that includes the silk. Don’t start another till you’ve finished.”
“Okay," Samuel replies, motioning for John to return his tools.
“Did you get all that?”
“I got it.”
John smiles and hands the equipment back to Samuel. He rubs a hand through his brother’s hair and returns to his stalk. The shudder of wind as it passes through the shifting leaves surrounds them.
“Do you think Pa’s alright?” Samuel asks.
John frowns. He tosses a bare stalk aside.
“What do you mean?”
“I see him cry sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking.”
“I think he just misses Ma," John says.
“You think so?”
“I do.”
Samuel moves on to the next plant, setting the ears in his basket as he goes. The basket rocks gently, wicker frame creaking under the burden of its load.
“Almost full?” John asks.
“Yes.”
“Take it up to the wagon when you’re done.”
Samuel nods. He watches a crow caw and fly up from the corn, fleeing the homemade scarecrow that stands guard over its quarry.
“Do you think Pa was ever a bad man like he said?”
John shrugs. He stares down at the tools in hand.
“I don’t know. I can never picture Pa as a bad man but if he says he was then I believe him.”
“Ma straightened him out, didn’t she?” Samuel asks.
“That she did.”
“Ma was tough.”
“She was.”
“I miss her.”
John sniffs from the hay and dust that floats above.
“So do I,” he replies.
They return to their picking. John throws another stripped crop down and dumps his ears before moving on to the next stalk. He pauses to watch his brother work. He shakes his head and chuckles.
“You’re still doing it wrong.”
* * *
John’s father closes down the wagon’s rear and heads back to the porch. Like John and Samuel he’s dressed in dusty work slacks. A thin straw hat rests atop his head shielding the sun from his eyes. He takes his seat on the porch while his children approach from the field. He fans his flushed cheeks and calls after them.
“Get washed up.”
“Yes sir.”
Samuel enters the house. John takes a seat on the porch while he waits for his brother to finish.
“Pa?”
“Yes, John?”
“Do you still think about Ma?”
“All the time.”
“You miss her?”
“Of course.”
John claps his hands together. He looks out among the field and listens to the sound of crying birds, of shifting leaves, of billowing dirt; the song of the earth.
“Pa?”
“Yes son?”
He takes his father's hand in his own and squeezes it tight.
“You’re a good man. No matter what darkness followed you or follows you now, you’re a good man.”
His father nods.
* * *
John and his father sit alone on the porch clean shaven and dressed for the night. The farm is quiet, silent save the sound of crickets chirping amongst the crops, their words rising in mismatched harmony. John leans back and watches the sun reach its end, a glorious sunset that spills beyond the clouds.
“Rose is a good girl," his father says.
“What?”
“I said that Rose is a good girl.”
“I know.”
“She’ll make a good mother.”
John pauses, his mind slowly registering the words. He stares at his father who greets his dumbstruck look with a sly grin.
“I’m not stupid, you know, she has the same signs your mother had with you and Samuel.”
“I didn’t realize—”
“Don’t worry yourself.”
John nods. He picks at a line of dirt beneath his nail in a pitiful attempt to stretch out the time.
“What if something goes wrong?” he asks.
“I thought the same thing.”
“You did?”
John’s father places his hand upon his son’s back. He speaks, voice solid and assured, words washing away John’s fear.
“Don’t worry, you’re going to be a great father.”
“Like you?" John asks.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
His father laughs. John joins him. Together they watch the sun as it sinks beyond the corn.
* * *
“Wake up, John!”
John jolts up in his bed. His father stands over him with the family’s Winchester rifle closed tight in his pale fists. He throws the weapon to his son.
“Pa, what’s going on?”
“Get up!”
John grabs Rose and together his father leads them to the hallway. Darkness swallows the house with no candles burning or lamps blazing. Samuel stands in the darkness holding a pair of silver-plated revolvers at arm’s length, as if afraid to bring them too close. He passes them to his father.
John watches his father load one’s chamber in seconds without breaking rhythm, his hands a blur of motion.
“Whose gun is that?” he asks.
“It’s mine, I’ve kept them hidden.”
“These were the pistols—”
“Yes, that I used.”
A frenzy of shouts follows. The light of fire twists beyond closed shades. Cracks of gunfire burst.
“Who’s out there?” John asks.
“Bad people, John.”
“Who are they?”
“People I never thought I’d see again. Now I need you to take Rose and Samuel and get out back. Hide in the tall grass. They won’t be looking for you, they don’t know you exist. Your mother isn’t the only reason I watch the sunsets, they come by dark.”
John’s stomach churns. His blood flows within his veins cold as ice. He stares down at the weapons.
“Pa, what are you going to do?” he asks.
“I’m going to try and save us.”
“No, there has to be another way, let’s all leave and hide in the fields. They won’t find us.”
“They’ve torched the fields. Unless I meet them they’ll burn the house too. Then they’ll track us down.”
Samuel clutches his father’s arm. He fights to hide the pain that etches itself upon his face but it’s no use. Tears form in his eyes.
“You can’t go, you’ll die.”
“This has been long time coming and now it’s here,” his father replies, eyes set as stone, “I won’t hide."
John stands still blocking the walkway. His father wraps his arms around him and kisses his forehead. He holds his son close and whispers to him.
“You’re carrying this family now.”
“Pa—”
Without another word his father is gone, out the front door and down the porch steps, the flames lighting his way.
* * *
The Tall Man waits. John’s father moves down the walkway and stands before his home.
Fires blaze around them. Crops and grass burn. Ash and dust float by as John’s father faces the hunter. His revolver shines in the light bearing a picture of a wolf carved into its side. The Tall Man’s revolver wobbles in its unclipped holster. Moonlight traces a path along its dark surface illuminating an identical figure engraved upon the handle.
“Hank,” The Tall Man says.
John’s father nods. His guns hang loose against his hips. His hands remain at his side. The Tall Man nods towards the entrance of his home.
“Where’s the whore?” he asks.
“My wife. She’s dead.”
The Tall Man falters. A shadow passes briefly over his face.
“Dead?”
“Dead.”
The Tall Man shakes his head and breaks from his thoughts. The darkened glaze returns to his eyes.
“Looks like you’ve become what you started out as, nothing but ash and dust. Search the house.”
Three men advance, the first a boy around John’s age. He leads the pack with two seasoned, haggard men behind. They surround John’s father. He grabs the youngest by the shirt and kicks down, snapping the boy’s ankle. As the boy drops he raises his revolver and fires two bursts in quick succession. The first man drops in a haze of blood as the bullet pierces his throat. He sinks to his knees, hands locked around the gushing wound, choking upon life that spurts between his fingers. The second shot catches the other through the eye. He spins through the air like a dancer before dropping to the earth.
John’s father returns the weapon to his holster and returns his gaze to the leader of the men he just slaughtered.
“No one will enter my home.”
The Tall Man marches forward and stands over the fallen men. His thin shadow stretches over their bodies and into the flames. The bearded man chokes and thrashes in his death throes. Blood gathers beneath his form. The Tall Man watches until he stops, head cocked, studying the man in wild fascination. He turns to the young one who lies moaning on the ground clutching his shattered ankle.
“I’m sorry—”
The Tall Man hushes his apology.
“It’s okay.”
He lifts the boy and pulls him towards the band, moving in step with the wounded youngster, holding him tight so he doesn’t fall. He reaches around his back and draws his hunting knife, clasped between his fingers. He twirls it slowly.
“Thank you," the wounded boy says. Sweat clings to his brow as he sucks in air through gritted teeth.
“Don’t thank me.”
The Tall Man slips the hunting knife into the boy’s side, jerking it deeper with each twist. The boy’s eyes widen and he sputters twice, grasping his master’s shoulder for support. Blood spills down his lips as his mouth forms a silent scream. The Tall Man pulls him close as if in embrace, whispering words only he and the dead can hear. The boy slides down his chest and crumples below. The last breath drifts from his lips. John’s father grimaces at the sight.
“Still no mercy?” he asks.
“None.”
The band of men, three members less, encircles the elders. John’s father counts their number, sight shifting from soldier to soldier.
“Only fifteen," he remarks.
“More than enough.”
“You’ve lost many.”
“I’ve lost nothing.”
John’s father and The Tall Man face each other. Fire burns on all sides. Their hands drift down and slide across the butts of their revolvers.
“This is where it ends, Hank.”
They draw.
* * *
John, Rose, and Samuel sit hunched in the cornfields watching as their father, a man they once thought could not harm a soul, drops the two men.
“We have to go,” John says, pulling at his brother's collar, “we have to go.”
“Go where?”
“They haven’t approached the barn yet. We can get the wagon and ride away.”
“And leave Pa?”
“What choice do we have?”
Samuel glances out to where his father stands. He nods, the pain of the decision marked upon his face.
“Rose, I want you to stay hidden. Go the fields and hide among the corn where the fire’s not yet reached. When the wagon comes by, be ready.”
“I’m not staying here without you.”
John grabs her by the shoulders. Tears burn his eyes.
“Listen to me. You’re all I have now. We’re all we have. I fear every day for you and I dream that you die every night. Please, that dream is here. The man out there, he is the figure who haunts me. I fear so much for you, Rose. I won’t let you risk yourself. I can’t let you go. I won’t be able to.”
He kisses his love and holds her close.
“Stay.”
* * *
Together the brothers make their way to the barn. As they pass they pass the roadway they can see The Tall Man standing over the choking outlaw. John unhitches the wagon while Samuel ties the horses. He secures the reins, fingers dancing as he loops the leather straps.
“We ride out when we get the chance and grab Rose. They’ll chase us but I think Pa might keep them busy.”
“A lot might go wrong," Samuel warns.
“I know, but it’s all we can do.”
From outside two gunshots sound. Samuel and John rush to the barn doors and peak through the crack to where the shots arose. The Tall Man clutches his shoulder, palm presses against his wound as blood trickles down his arm. John’s father holds his hand to his gut. Blood seeps up between his fingers.
“I’m going to shoot you once for every year, Hank,” The Tall Man says as he raises his weapon and pulls the trigger.
John’s father’s finger disappears in a spray of blood. His weapon clatters to the earth. The Tall Man fires again, this time in his leg. He drops to the ground. He does not scream in pain or shout. He is stoic, accepting of his fate.
Samuel screams into his hands, muffling the sound. He makes to join his father but John grabs his shoulder, pulling him from view and holding him in place, trying to steady the boy.
“Let go of me.”
“No,” John says, holding his thrashing brother still.
“Let go of me!”
“We can’t help him.”
“No,” Samuel cries. His fighting stops and John loosens his hold till his brother is able to pull away.
Samuel curses and mounts the wagon with John beside him. Soft tears spill down his cheeks. With a crack of the whip the horses lunge forward and past the barn doors. The Tall Man and his band don’t hear the coach until it is halfway to the tall grass. The carriage rumbles over the terrain, the horses’ hooves pounding the earth. The Tall Man turns smoothly and fires the remaining bullets into the animals. They tumble to the earth. The carriage turns on its side, wheels raised and grinding against the rocks, finally tipping over. Dust wafts up around the vehicle to nearly swallow its form. John and Samuel fly from their seats.
Samuel turns with rifle raised and fires into the crowd of men as they approach. Two drop in the dust. John’s father is left kneeling in the dirt. He lunges forward and grabs the revolver with his good hand. He sends the band scattering as he catches two more in the back, squeezing the trigger till it clicks empty.
“I’m getting Pa,” Samuel shouts as he sprints into the fray.
“No, Samuel!”
John turns to chase him but a sharp pain overtakes him. He falls to the ground with a bullet lodged in his calf. Blood pours from the open wound, saturating the dirt. He grunts and raises himself to his feet only to drop once again, grounded by the pain.
Samuel reaches his father and takes hold of him, lifting him into his arms and preparing to rise.
“Pa,” Samuel says.
“Samuel?”
A taunting voice rises from behind.
“So he’s your son.”
The Tall Man stands over them. He removes his hat and shakes his head. His wild hair flutters in the breeze as he laughs. The men surround them. Samuel lifts his rifle but The Tall Man slaps it away.
“Bring the other.”
John feels himself being dragged through the dirt to where his father lay. A trail of blood follows behind lining the dirt with red. Coldness spreads through his body. The outlaws drop him beside to his father.
“I see the whore had children,” The Tall Man whispers.
“She was my mother,” Samuel spits.
“She was a whore.”
John glances up, shaking from the cold.
“You’re nothing…”
The Tall Man turns.
“You’re nothing,” John repeats.
The Tall Man leans in and studies the boy. The black caverns of his eyes seem to swallow John. He smiles in the dancing light of the flames.
“I…am God.”
“God’s don’t bleed.”
The Tall Man stands and empties the chamber into Samuel’s chest. He draws his second pistol and puts a bullet in the head of John’s father. John can hear himself screaming. He can hear Rose screaming. The Tall Man strikes him across the face and he finds himself lost in the dark.
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