1.

Monday May 22nd, 1871

It’s early morning. Gray twilight filters in through window lace. Alden Cotes is awake and thinking of the ocean. There is a knock on the door.

“Sheriff, you in there?”

“Yeah, I’m here, Burt,” Alden says. Alden can imagine only one reason why one of his deputies would be banging on his and Sophia’s apartment door this early in the morning. “They find the boy?”

“No,” Burt says. “It’s something else. You decent?”

Sophia rolls over in bed. “It’s early,” she says.

“I know.”

“It’s important,” Burt says.

“Go back to bed, Burt,” Sophia says.

“Bed? Oh no, Miss Cotes, I can’t go back to bed—”

“Shut up out there!” Someone yells from inside another apartment.

“Sheriff,” Burt says in a half whisper. “It is important.”

Alden is up and dressing. “I’ll be down there in a few minutes, Burt. Just let me get my boots on, okay?”

“Alright,” Burt says, and then adds, “Sorry to bother you, Miss Cotes.”

Burt’s heavy steps retreat back down the sleeping hall and down the stairs.

“You telling him today?” Sophia says. Her eyes still closed.

“Who? Burt?”

“You know who,” Sophia says.

“Yeah,” Alden says. “Sure. First thing this morning.”

“Promise.”

“Promise? Now why would I need to promise such a—”

“Alden Eugene Cotes—”

“All I’m saying is there’s no need to promise. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Sophia makes to sit up. She’s several months pregnant and her growing stomach makes it difficult to rise.

“Now no need to get up,” Alden says.

“You’ve had that letter there for two weeks,” Sophia says. “We’re supposed to be leaving in another three—”

“I’ll tell him today,” Alden says. He bends over and kisses her forehead. “I promise.”

“Take the letter.”

“I don’t need the letter,” Alden says.

Sophia glares at him and Alden raises his hands in the universal, I surrender.

“I’ll take the letter,” he concedes.

“I don’t want to be giving birth all the way out here, in this—”

“You won’t have to.” Alden takes the letter off the side table and pockets it. “Now get back to sleep. I’ll see you this evening.”

2.

Alden and his wife, Sophia, rent an upstairs room at the Queen Anne Inn and Restaurant. The only way in and out of the apartments is out through the large dining hall below. Being so early in the morning the dining room is empty and cleaned up for the night and the chairs are stacked up on the tables. It’s there, in the corner, by the door, Burt stands. Next to Burt is Alden’s second deputy, Samuel, sitting in a chair.

The disease is Giantism, and when Samuel sits, he looks as if he is sitting in a child's chair.

“Well, this must be important,” Alden says. “I’ve got the both of you. What time is it?”

Samuel checks his pocket watch. It looks like a coin in his hands. “Quarter past four.” Samuel’s speech is deep and slow, as if it’s rising from a well.

“So what’s all the matter?”

Burt looks uneasily to Samuel. “Well,” Burt starts. “Samuel here’s got to tell you something.”

“I’m all ears,” Alden says.

“A dream,” Samuel says. “A very bad dream.”

“Now hold on—” Burt interjects. “You can’t just go launching into it like that, Sam. Listen, Sheriff. It’s going to sound really strange—”

“Did you say a dream?” Alden says. “Did he say a dream?”

“Yes, he said a dream,” Burt says, “but first you have to understand something.”

“You two came sneaking over here—”

“We did not sneak,” Samuel says.

“And come knocking on Sophia’s and mine door at four in the morning?”

“Sheriff,” Burt says. “Just listen for one minute, won’t you?”

“Over a dream?” Alden says. “Christ, Burt, I’m not alls your mammies. You can’t be running to me when yous all gets a bad dream.”

“It was his dream!” Burt says defensively.

“Sheriff,” Samuel raises his giant hands. “Hear me. Hear me.”

“Shut up, down there!”

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

“Listen to him, Sheriff,” Burt says in a harsh whisper. “He’s got a touch of the pre-mo-nition.”

“Pre-mo-nition?” Alden repeats. “Boys, it’s too early for this.”

“Hold on, Alden— hold on,” Burt pleads. “Don’t go back up them stairs. Hold on. You know Sam’s got something— you’ve seen it yourself. Remember that tornado two years ago? Sam said for weeks, weeks that a tornado was coming.”

“This is tornado country, Burt!”

“What about that Smith woman? Remember her? Sweet little Mrs. Smith? Who was the only person that knew she killed her husband? And who found the body?”

“That’s what you call pre-mo-nition?” Alden sits in the chair in front of Samuel. “Okay, Sam. What about the Foster boy? What happened to him? Can you use that pre-mo-nition of yours to tell me that?”

Samuel shakes his head. “It don’t work like that, Sheriff.”

Alden licks his lips. “What about on some horse races. Your pre-mo-nition work on that? And I ask because— now hold on boys, hold on— I heard that we’re getting a wire all the way from Kansas City. One of those tapping things that— beep, beep-beep, beep— thing. You know? A— a…” Alden has to think about it.

“Telegraph,” Samuel says.

Alden snaps his fingers. “A telegraph. That’s what they’re called. Good job, Sam. And I heard you’d be able to bet on a horse race going on all the way in Kentucky right from here.” He taps his finger on the table. “Ain’t that something? A Kentucky race right here. Boys, we could be as rich as Mr. Ramsey up on that hill over there. Boy, technology.”

“It don’t work like that,” Samuel says.

“The telegraph don’t work like that?”

“Premonition don’t work like that.”

“Too bad,” Alden says.

“You’re fixin’ about leavin’,” Samuel says.

“Huh?”

“Leavin’,” Samuel repeats. “Quittin’ town.”

“You is ain’t you?” Burt says.

Alden searches Samuel’s face to see if he’s joking.

“Boy, Samuel you are good,” Burt says. “You’re real good.”

Alden scoffs. “I’m not fixin’ to go anywhere.”

“Yes you is,” Burt says cheerfully. “You have it writ all over your face.”

“Well who wouldn’t think about leaving this dry turd?” Alden says.

“I’m not thinking about leaving,” Burt says. “Sam here, he ain’t thinking about leaving either, are you Sam?”

“We’re not here to stop you.” Samuel says.

“We ain’t?” says Burt.

“You should leave to-day.” Samuel says. “Things are happening. ‘Bout to get bad.”

“Sam,” Burt says. “You didn’t say anything about making him go.”

“Bad?” Alden says. “How bad?”

“Real bad,” says Samuel.

Alden again searches Samuel’s face then waves his hand away. “This is all nonsense.” Alden stands. “You sound like that crazy old Duncan lady.”

“U.S. Marshal,” Samuel says.

“Huh?”

“U.S. Marshal,” Samuel repeats. “You leavin’ to be a U.S. Marshal.”

Alden stutters. “How’d you— Samuel, did someone— I haven’t—”

“Pre-mo-nition,” Burt says.

“You saw all that in a dream?” Alden says.

“You’ve got a letter,” Samuel says. He points to Alden’s chest.

Alden falls back in the chair, digs into his jacket pocket, and removes the folded letter. “You see this, Sam? Did Soph show it to you? I won’t be mad at either of you. I just need to—”

“He saw it in a dream,” Burt says.

Alden shakes his head. “Sophia wants me to tell Ramsey today—”

“Leave now.” Samuel presses.

“Will you quit with that?” Burt says. “Listen, Alden, you’d make a real fine U.S. Marshal, no doubt about that. Maybe the best damn U.S. Marshal—”

“Thank you, Burt.”

“But what you’ve done here, for Cull,” Burt sighs. “Sam and I are… What I means to say is… Oh shoot, Sheriff, you could run this whole town by yourself, I bet.”

“Now you’re just flattering me, Burt.”

“No I aint,” Burt says. “It’s the truth and you know it is. I just know… well… this whole town would just turn to ruin without you. I know that.”

“Someone would replace me, Burt.” Alden says. “Ramsey, he’d see to that.”

“But don’t you remember how it was when you first got here?” Burt presses. “We had a mess of a time with this so and so gang and that so and so gang. Bandits and thieves.”

“Leave now,” Samuel says.

“I said quit that, Sam,” Burt says.

“And what? You think it will come to that again?” Alden says.

“I do,” Burt says. “I really do. Take the Dean brothers for example.”

“The Deans?” Alden says. “I didn’t have no hand with them. Copper just proved more profitable than outlawin’.”

“Leave,” Samuel says. “Time running out.”

“Sam!”

“If you don’t go you’ll die.”

“I’ll die?” Alden says. “You saw that?”

Sam nods.

"Soph too?"

Sam nods.

Alden leans back in the chair. "So why aint you running, Sam? Or you, Burt?"

“Sam says I’ll do just fine when all hell breaks loose. Says I need to be here. Going to be a big time hero.”

“What about you Sam?” Alden asks. “You going to be a big time hero too?”

“Need to stay.”

Alden nods. "Sounds a whole lot like the stuff they’re shoveling up over at McDougal’s farm."

A gunshot outside and Alden is on his feet, his pistol drawn. Samuel is slower to rise but still quick enough and in a heartbeat all three of them are at the door and out with their pistols at the ready.

3.

Mr. Matthews, the owner of Matthews’ Mercantile, is crouched low just outside his shop. He kneels over something. Alden barely has time to register this. A wild collection of desert animals stampede through the middle of the street. Mule deer, and coyotes. A sheep, jackrabbits, and even mice, snakes, and spiders, all run, crawl, and slither through the town center as if a dam holding back all the wild desert beasts had just burst open and flooded Cull.

The flood of animals doesn’t last more than thirty seconds and then they’re gone, run off into the surrounding desert.

Faces look out the windows, doors open.

“It was a wolf,” Mr. Matthews says when the three law men get to him.

Mr. Matthew’s is crouched over Mrs. Huber, the cobbler. She is on the wooden sidewalk her hand over her face. They help her up.

“The wolf jumped at her,” Mr. Matthews explains. “I shot at it but I think I missed.”

Mrs. Huber speaks only German and no one other than her husband, who is long since dead, understands her. She says something.

“Er-sush-tat.” Burt repeats nodding his head as if he understands. “Er-sush-tat.”

“It bite her?” Alden asks.

“No,” Mr. Matthews says. “I don’t think so. It was so quick.”

“You see anything like it?”

Mr. Matthews shakes his head. “No. You?”

“Forest fire,” Alden says. “Up north. Huge thing. Went burning for weeks. Lot’s of animals came out running. All kinds. Bears, moose, deer—”

“There isn’t a forest within three days from here.” Mr. Matthews says.

“No,” Alden agrees.

Alden looks west, the direction in which the animals had come from. Cull was in a valley, surrounded by a ridge of low, mining hills.

“Something scared them,” Alden says. He turns to Samuel, his giant deputy. "This in your dream, Sam?"

Samuel cocks his head as if pondering this question. "Bats," he finally says. "A river of bats."