Deals Gone Dirty

Bill “Blaster” Benson felt the sizzling heat of the sun beat down on his weathered skin as he rode along the sun bleached, lonesome desert road. For three long years ol Bill had been riding westward to the Under, chasing shadows with nothing to show for it. Bill pulled on his horse’s reins, bringing her to a stop. His eyes scanned around, but only the barren wastes, stretched far beyond an eye can see. The horrid scents of caracases long forgotten baking in the desert punched his nostrils. Woke poor Bill right up. Globs of sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He wiped the sweat off his brow, then ran his hand across the weathered saddle, wiping off the moisture as coarse leather bit into his calloused skin. His locket rattled as strong gusts whipped by. Bill’s head turned down, his gaze fixating on the rusted locket. His hand curled around it and brought it up to his face. His finger pushed against the rusted opening mechanism and popped it open. There were times he’d wish he’d forget about it, but what is love if you forget that what you love. His finger rubbed against the picture of a woman, brown haired, fair, just the way he'd remember her. Something felt odd to him though. The locket felt cooler than usual, cooler than should be when met with the summer’s cruel light. He ran his finger over it again, cold, as if the damned thing was made of ice. 

“Damn.” He cursed under his breath. 

  Bill’s head shifted downwards. His vision blurred in and out, he sucked in the dry air, parched lips yearning to feel moisture. Wind picked up more, dragging clouds of dust hurling his way. Bill fingers pinched closed his nose. The wind brought with them the rotting smell of the wastes. Ol Tess snorted and tossed her head, letting out a wild neigh as she sent Bill tumblin down. Bill’s body smacked against the hardened desert dirt. Waves of immeasurable pain shooting up his arm. Something below Bess, scurried about, bony and slim but before his eyes could truly identify what it was it’d disappeared into the endless desert wastes. 

“What the hell…” Bill’s stomach churned as he watched the grotesque creature. 

To make matters more interesting, most clouds of dust kicked up into the air. Bill, with his good hand, reached for his holster, tugging at the strap that held his gun in place, but put that venture on hold. His ears picked up something peculiar too. 

      Hooves. 

Dirt shattered into thousands of pieces as they charged downward. To make matters worse, as the dust cleared,shadows emerged bearing  rifles that glinted in the sunlight. His pulse echoed in his ears. His hands hovered over his holster. Weighing his odds, but instinct took over. Cold steel ran across his hand, curling his fingers around the grip of his pistol. 

 Fifteen travel-worn men bobbed up and down as their horses galloped. Bill’s gaze fitted from one man to another, eyeing up and down the long rifles they carried on their backs. One caught his eye. 

A tall, brown haired man, with a face so scarred you’d think he’d been dead before. His muscles stretched the tattered fabric of his shirt, nearly tearing it apart. The man’s hands  tugged gently at the reins bringing the horse to a stop. Then raised his hand high in the air, closed his fist. One by one their horse's ground to a stop. A cloud of dust had formed again over the road, blocking the sun. 

“What’s a fella like you doin’ out here?” His deep voice echoed. . 

“Travellin.” Bill‘s voice trembled as unsure if the men were dangerous

The man’s eyes flicked about looking at Bill, then turned his head towards the others. Bill’s heart drew out all sound. His knuckles whitened as he clenched the grip of the gun harder. The rugged men turned back to him, then raised his fist up in the air. Like dog’s every single one of the riders heeded the signal and put their guns to their side. 

“Put the gun down buster,” He commanded, grasping the grip of his revolver. 

Bill sucked in air through his teeth in death and dropped the gun on the floor. The man hopped leaped off his horse and dirt crunching as he made his way toward him. To his surprise, the man kneeled down, stretching his hand out to him. 

“Lucky bastard, ya are. Most people wouldn’t be as generous as us.” He reached over, extending his hand. 

“Something ain’t right.” Bill muttered, pain still shooting up his arm. 

A gust blew through the endless wastes again, but this time it carried a cold thickness to it. Bill’s eyes flicked about the men and slowly the skin on their faces cracked, blood seeping through the crevices of flesh.

“What the hell!” Bill's voice reverberated as he tried to crawl backwards. 

The flesh on the rider’s arm split and the wind carried bits of flesh with it.  When Bill’s eyes met with the rider’s eyes, his heart drowned out all sound in his ears again. Everything but the main rider froze, the men’s faces shifted, their faces pulled and pushed by whatever it was controlling the world and too became skeletal like . The rider’s feet sank into the snow as he made his way towards him. Bill fell on his ass trying to get away but the skeletal man already towered over him. His eyes stuck on the poor bastard. Bill’s fingers wrapped around the cold grip of the gun. His finger trembled over the trigger. 

BANG. A bullet deafeningly rang out from the gun, smashing against the rider’s chest. A futile effort. Shattering into thousands of little pieces. 

BANG. BANG. BANG. Bill’s finger clicked the trigger in rapid succession sending out a volley of fire but nothing. The dead rider still stood tall.

“You can’t escape Bill.” His voice is quite ghost-like. 

“You must pay for your sins…” Bill’s legs refused to listen, trembling as the rider stood before him. Casting a shadow over him. 

“I…I don’t want to be a dead man.” Bill’s lips quivered, he tried to pull the trigger again, but his fingers refused to listen.

“Oh Bill…” The skeleton sly sang, then brought himself to his level, bringing his bony fingers to the grip of the gun. Then paused. 

“You can’t plead Bill, you remember the offer of course. Don’t go making deals with demons if you can’t pay your part.” Darkness encroached on the wasteland swallowing up the sky and land. The skeleton’s voice hissed like venom 

“I..I just wanted to be with my wife… Please just let me see her one last time.” Bill’s ruggedness stripped from his soul, leaving him a pathetic husk of himself. 

“Please… j..just please…” His knees smacked against the solid void. 

The skeleton did nothing but stare down. His bony finger digging into his chest. Bill’s head hung low. “I’ll do what I must.” Tears rolled down his cheek. 

The skeleton lifted his finger, bringing up his body with him. “You promised me you wouldn’t touch your gun Bill. SO GIVE IT!.” The skeleton’s soft venomous voice boomed into a cacophony of indignation. 

Before, Bill could give him his gun, the skeleton pushed his finger deeper, severing his final ties to the living world. Thousands of tiny hands stretched out from the tip of his finger, taking the gun into their grasp and Bill’s soul with it.