I couldn’t’ve told you which came in first:  The music, or my view of the dusty street.  I blinked, taking in the couple people frozen in front of me, one mid-step, the other sitting on a barrel.  A church-like building towered behind them.

Suddenly they unfroze, the man strumming his guitar, while the woman walked across in front of me, shooting me a dirty look.  She hurried away as though my presence might sully her.

In wondering why, I became aware of myself.  Something bit into my ribs, making it hard to breathe, and my legs were hot under layers of cloth.  And my head, when I tilted it to look, had something on it.  The first something was a red satin corset, the skirts were also red satin with a mound of cloth giving me an evil-stepsister giant rear end.  And a hat that was towered with fake flowers explained the weight on top of my ringletted updo.

I turned right, looking for my reflection in a window, and a balding man in a bowtie got in my face.  “We offer basic packages of supplies to simplify things for you,” he said, holding out a tray.  On the tray were a five-month option, a six-month, and a No Thanks.

“No thanks,” I said, completely bewildered.

“Are you sure?  It’s dangerous out there for a lady such as yourself.  These packages will take the guesswork out of shopping for supplies.”

“No, thanks,” I repeated.

“Listen, I need to make at least three sales a day to make a livable wage on commissions.  The five month package would be perfect for you and your man.  Here,” he said, holding out the option he’d suggested.

“No,” I growled, and shoved him away.  He poofed out of existence, leaving me staring at an ‘Endence Messenger’, a butcher, and a dry goods store.  And a lady with a basket and bonnet who stood, looking at me curiously.

“Are you heading out West, too?” she asked.

“What?  No.”

“My husband’s in the dry goods, gettin’ supplies.  He’s the driving force behind this… this heading West.  No idea why we are, considering the stories I’ve heard.  Illness, wild animals, and even wilder Indians.  We got it good here, you know?”

In the basket she held out, for whatever reason, was an interface very like the salesman’s, except hers invited me to ask questions, tell her goodbye, or ask to trade.  This was tickling a memory for me, something about the bad graphics, and the way the music stopped when she approached.

“Would you like to trade?” I hesitantly asked.

I peered at the new list in her basket.  She had beads and biscuits and a fishing pole and flute and pounds of salt pork.  And I, apparently, had a thousand dollars.

I told her never mind, and she backed off a bit as the jaunty music resumed, then turned to stare at me inquisitively.  The music came from nowhere and everywhere and was set on a loop that was both invigorating and maddening.

I turned right again, to see the other end of town was walled off by what appeared either to be barracks or a hastily cloned grey building.  There was another woman with a bonnet, this one with a pail and shawl, and more dirty looks as she hurried away from me.  To my left was a stables, to my right a hotel.

So familiar…

I took a few steps forward, and was taken aback by the oxen parked between me and the grey buildings in triplicate.  They stood in front of a covered wagon which really helped cement the time period as even the flat-fronted buildings and my dress hadn’t been able to.

The woman had talked about going west, I was wearing a saloon girl getup, and there stood oxen in front of a covered wagon.  And that music, instrumental and twangy.

A hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump and shriek.  I spun, ready to give that bald salesman a good reaming.

Instead of the bald salesman, five men stood in front of me.  Or rather, four men and a boy.  They all wore garb that made them look almost Amish with their simple light-colored shirts tucked into brown pants.  They seemed to have arranged themselves by age, with the one on the left having silver threaded through his untrimmed hair.  The next man had brilliant blue eyes under a hat, and the next was a redhead in his twenties.  Then a handsome teen, and a boy who looked much like him.

“Whatchew waitin’ for?” the redhead asked in a thick Irish accent.  He flipped his hankie at me, and added, “We ain’t got all day.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“You need to get our supplies,” the handsome teen said.

“The hell I do.  I don’t even know you.”

Mister Redheaded and Impatient stepped in close.  “You’re traveling with us.  That’s our money you got in your little purse.  You’ll go get our supplies.”

“Get them yourself,” I said, stepping in toe-to-toe with him.

An arm slipped between us, and urged the man back.  It was the eldest, looking at me with calm eyes.  “You need to get the supplies.  We cannot.”

“Why not?” I demanded.

“You’re the player, not us.”

“I’m the… player?”

“Saddled us with a dumb one, they did,” the twenty-something Irishman sneered.

“But…”  If I was a player, then this had to be a game.  And if it was a game, then I had the sneaking suspicion…  “What game?” I asked.

“The Oregon Trail,” the boy answered, as though that excited him.  “We’re going to Sacramento!”

I stumbled back a step, suddenly feeling faint.  “But… What…?”

“We’re in your party,” the older guy explained.  “I’m Ezra, this is Clay,” he said, pointing at the blue-eyed guy who still hadn’t spoken.  The impatient redhead with the Irish accent was Niall, then pretty-boy Wesley, and his brother Kenny.

“You need to go buy supplies, so we can get on the trail,” Ezra explained.

“But I have no idea how to…”  I trailed off, looking into Niall’s sneer.  But, wait.  If this was the Oregon Trail—and it was looking very familiar, now—then I’d played it before.  Back when I was a kid, but still.  I remembered we had to buy stuff like food and clothes, and some animals to pull the wagon.

“Do we have a wagon?” I asked.

“A Conestoga,” Ezra answered.

“And a thousand dollars,” I remembered from that aborted trade.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I spun away from them, because Niall had taken up staring at my chest.  I rubbed my temple, then popped open my little beaded clutch.  Ten hundreds were rolled up inside.

If I remembered correctly, there was a way to make money trading livestock.  Buy a couple mules, oxen, and milk cows, then trade them away, a mule or cow for a horse, two oxen for a mule, only advantageous trades.  It would take time, but it would make me—us—money, which would set us up for our trip…

What the hell was I thinking?  I wasn’t going on a trip.  I wasn’t actually in this game, I couldn’t be.  I didn’t have to do what these guys said.

Except, when I spun to confront them, my ‘party’ was gone, and all that was left were judgy women in bonnets.  I tugged at the front of my corset, wondering why the game had put me in this getup, when obviously it was much more accepted to run around looking like a milk maid.

Maybe if I stole that one’s pail, I’d look more legit.  Perhaps sensing my intent, she hurried away.

Fuck me.  Stuck in a dusty, rectangular area surrounded by shops, a thousand dollars in my pocket, and that fucking.  Music.

Thinking maybe I’d get some relief if I went inside, I stepped into the stables.

The music didn’t change.  A stiff stared at me with straw strewn very evenly across a floor studded by one big, irresponsible puddle.  I dashed out, then into the general store.  The music still played.  I spun, desperate to get away from it, and tried the outfitters.

For some reason or other, I couldn’t get into the hotel.  I tugged at the door, but it simply would not open.

I ran to the other end of town in desperation, and suddenly the music changed.  There!  A series of flutes and trombones picked out an upbeat tune, while a man in a top hat with terrible fashion taste eyed me smugly.

I couldn’t take this.  I didn’t want to, and didn’t have to!

Exit toward the church, I remembered, and dashed that way.  The sideburned man at the gate caught my arm.  “You can’t leave Independence,” he said.  “You don’t have any animals to pull your wagon.”

“I don’t want to travel the trail,” I said.  “I’ve changed my mind.”

Ignoring me, the man pointed toward the barn-looking storefront.  “You can buy some mules or a team of oxen at the stables.”

“Seriously, sir.  I’ve changed my mind.  I’m going to stay in the East.”

Grip like steel, he smiled pleasantly.  “If you need additional help, there’s the Guidebook, which you may consult at any time.”  He plucked it out of my clutch—which was a fantastic trick, considering the little purse was barely the size of my two fists—and opened it up to show me the overlong title in Old West script.

1848 Edition caught my eye.  I pointed.  “Is that the year?” I asked faintly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I shook my head, and he released me when I backed up.  I shook my head some more.  “This can’t be happening.”  But it was.  A better question:  “Why is this happening?  What did I do to deserve this?”

The people closest, hearing me talk to no one, hurried away.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded.  As far as I could tell, I was stuck in a game.  But why?  To what end?  And how?

The man with sideburns stepped in close to hand my guidebook back.  “You’re in Independence, Missouri, ma’am.  You’re here to stock up before embarking on the Oregon Trail.”

“What if I refuse?” I asked.  “I’ll just get a job here, cleaning rooms at the hotel, or—“

The man’s expression was irritating in its lack of reaction, as if he hadn’t even heard me.  “You’ll need some draft animals to pull your wagon, at least,” he said, pointing again to the stables.

Son of a bitch.  I supposed I could just sit in the street and refuse to move, but spending my ‘party’s money sounded much more fun.  So… all right.  For now, I’d play along.

I went into the stable first, and bought four mules for $44 apiece, two milk cows at $55, and a couple oxen at $11 apiece.  I made note of the price of horses, then exited the stables, not quite understanding why I wasn’t leading the animals myself.  Had the salesman said they’d be delivered to us outside the gates?

I talked to the first person I encountered, asking if they’d like to trade.  They said yes, and that they had a cow they’d be willing to give me for one of my mules.  It wasn’t the best trade I’d ever made, but I took it.  The next person had three horses they’d take my four mules for.  I considered, then chose to haggle.  They asked for five mules, making me wince, then $240, then four mules again.  I took the trade.

The horses were hard to get rid of, because the person I was trading with had to have something more valuable than $85 to make it worth my while.  I wound up taking either two or three mules, two milk cows, or cash.  I got a mule for two oxen, two pigs for two oxen, and so on through the day.

A tally was kept so that I never had to actually deal with the animals.  At one point, I had thirty-eight mules, which I imagined would be quite a herd to lead around, dodging teeth and hooves.

One guy offered me a grandfather clock in exchange for one of my oxen, and I thought, why the hell not?  I remembered the grandfather clocks were pretty valuable, probably worth six times the ox.  I took the trade, figuring I’d get rid of it before I left.

After a couple hours, when I was starting to grow weary of talking to people, I started to sell off the animals down to only what I thought I’d need.  A horse for each of us to ride, a couple mules to carry stuff, and I had no idea how many oxen it would take to pull a Conestoga wagon, but I was guessing maybe six?

Next I stopped at the general store.  They sold shirts, pants, socks, shoes, etc.  I was tempted to buy the men dresses, but wound up getting them two sets of clothing apiece instead.  We needed cooking supplies, maybe a fiddle and banjo for entertainment.  Soap, a washboard, etc.  I avoided the cast iron stove because it sounded heavy, and opted for light aluminum dishes instead of breakable china.

In the way of food… salt would be important, to help preserve meat.  Pickles, bags of celery and rhubarb, saltines…  Honestly, most of it looked unappetizing.  But I remembered some of the people I’d traded with had been offering fresh fruits and vegetables, so I’d just do a bit more trading before leaving town.

At the gunsmith, I bought a couple pistols, a few rifles, and some boxes of bullets.  I skipped the shotguns and sacks of shot entirely, because who wanted to mess with de-feathering a ten pound goose, when we could just shoot and clean big game, at hundreds of pounds apiece?

Sheesh, what else was there?  I dropped into the pharmacy, and didn’t know what most of it was for, so just bought two of everything.

By the time I was done, though, I was a couple hundred pounds over my wagon limit.

That’s okay.  The answer, I felt, was another Conestoga.  I went back to the guy selling wagons, and he claimed all he had was a large or small farm wagon.

I pointed at the wagon out front.  “That looks like a Conestoga to me.”

“Spoken for,” he said.  “Feller said he’d be back with the money by closing time.”

“Well, let me just give you an extra hundred for it,” I offered.

He shook his head.  “The large farm wagon, here, will work for you just fine.  Especially if you already have a Conestoga.”

But, for whatever reason, I really wanted the Conestoga.  “Much better to sell to me than wait for a man who may or may not come back,” I said, but still he hesitated.  “Surely there’s some deal we can make.  An extra hundred dollars, and…?”  I hadn’t meant for the last to come out a suggestive purr, but it did.

He eyed me from behind his counter.

I couldn’t have told you how I knew he’d decided in my favor, or how I knew exactly what he wanted, but I did.  I circled the counter, fell to my knees, and gave him a blow job.  I looked up at him like I was loving it, swallowed his cum, and he sold me the Conestoga for an extra $100.  I had the presence of mind to add in all the spare wagon parts in duplicate before leaving.

Walking out, I wondered what I’d just done.  My mouth still tasted funky, and I would’ve given anything for a public bathroom with running water and a toothbrush.  Had I just… bartered a blowjob as though it were the most natural thing in the world?  Why had I done that?  And how had I known to do it?  I wasn’t that kind of woman.  So why had it even occurred to me?  And why wasn’t I more torn up about it?

Rubbing my temple, I remembered I didn’t have enough draft animals for the two wagons, so I made a few last-minute trades.  Ah, there were some bags of fresh vegetables.  I didn’t remember the exact value of the crackers and onions and whatnot, so just did my best.

Finally, I was left with twelve oxen, two mules, and six horses.  And I was hungry, and thirsty, and I had to pee.

The sideburned gate guard let me exit the town, this time.  The cleared area around the town was a collection of wagons and animals in large clumps.

I was just wondering how the heck I was going to find my five guys when Kenny ran up.  “We’re this way, Pearl.”

“That’s not my name.”

He tilted his head.  “But of course it is.  That’s the name you’re traveling the trail under.”

“Says who?”

“Gimme your trail guide.”  I handed it over, and he flipped the first couple pages.  “See here?”

Pearl, I read.  A greenhorn, leaving Independence in May, 1848.  Formerly a Prostitute…

Wait.  What??

“What the hell?”

“Oh, that’s what you used to do.”

“According to who?” I demanded.

“You chose your occupation at the start,” Kenny said.

“I did not.  I never chose to be a prostitute.  I would’ve chosen to be a banker, and start off with a lot of money.  Or a carpenter.  Something useful.”

“But you’re a woman,” Kenny said, looking confused.

“A seamstress, even,” I said.  I found a pen in my little bag, and tried to cross out Prostitute.  The pen wouldn’t mark.  In fact, my previous occupation refused to be altered in any way.  I even tried tearing out the page, to no avail.  It was like the page itself had been forged of titanium.  Maybe fire would—

“What the hell were you thinking?” a man asked in a thick Irish accent.

I looked up into Niall’s brown eyes, apparently having followed Kenny all the way to our wagons.  “Eh?”

“A grandfather clock?” he asked, flicking the canvas aside so I could see it proudly strapped on top.

Hell, I’d forgotten to trade it away.  “I… uh.  Hm.”  I rubbed the back of my neck.

“What are we going to do with a grandfather clock?”  Niall asked, his cheeks approaching the color of his hair.

“It’s here now,” Ezra said.  “So, we take it.”

“Yeah, but two thousand miles?” Wesley asked, shouldering into our little circle with a mule nosing in behind him.  “That thing’ll break for sure.  And if we tip fording a river—“

“It weighs five stone,” Niall said.  “I say we dump it.”

“Dump it, then,” I said.  “I don’t give a damn.”

“Well, then why did you buy it, ye gobdaw woman!”  Niall looked fit to explode.

“Listen,” Ezra said before I could step forward and tweak Niall’s nose, “we have plenty of room.”  He turned to look at me.  “You did very well with your trading.  I never expected two Conestogas and this many animals.”  He gazed at me with soft brown eyes, and I couldn’t help but feel a nice warm glow.  “You did very well.”

“Excessive, you ask me,” Niall said, and spit.  Had I bought him chewing tobacco?  I made a mental note not to get him any more.

“The task ahead of us now,” Ezra said, “is to decide which wagon train to join.”

“Wagon train?  We don’t need no damn train,” Niall grumbled.  “They’ll only slow us doon.  Dust for miles.  Disease and other people’s problems,” he muttered.

“You have three choices.  The one with 27 wagons and 102 people, the one with 28 wagons and 88 people, and the last with 49 wagons and 168 people.”

My first inclination, staring at Niall, was to go with the biggest train.  But I wasn’t really about to do this was I?

“I don’t even know you,” I said.

Clay, perched on one of the seats, having been thoughtfully chewing on the sweet end of a blade of grass while we argued, raised a brow.

“I can’t just ride with five perfect strangers to Oregon.  I have no idea who you are.”

“Ezra,” Ezra said, pointing at himself.  “Niall, Clay, Wesley, Kenny.”

“Sure, I’ve got your names.  But you could be rapists or murderers or worse.”

“We’re your party,” Ezra said calmly.

“But surely you must have some backstory.  Where did you come from?  Or are you telling me you’re just NPCs?”

“What’s an NPC?” Niall snapped, eyeing me like he thought I’d called him a name.

“What made you decide to travel the trail?” I tried, imploring Ezra with my eyes.

“I’m a widower,” he said, looking down.  “There were too many painful memories in that house.”

Aw, hell.  “I’m sorry.”

He nodded.  “Niall escaped the potato famine in Ireland.  He’s determined to find good farmland on the other side of the rockies.”

“I want to find gold,” Wesley volunteered, fighting not to be overbalanced by the affectionate mule pushing up behind him.  “And this twit ran away from home to follow me.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Nineteen and my brother is thirteen.”

“Hmm.”  I looked at Clay, who I still hadn’t heard speak.

“Now, that one might actually be a criminal, we don’t know,” Niall said.

And Clay didn’t look interested in opening his mouth.  He just resettled his hat and cast an incredible blue-eyed gaze my way.  Ah, well.  I didn’t get any rapist/criminal vibes from him, and that would have to be enough.

I nodded.  “Then, we’ll join the biggest wagon train.”

Muttering under his breath, Niall kicked a clump of sod and stalked off.

Ezra smiled faintly, obviously understanding the reason for my choice.  “Then, I’ll go talk to them and get us added to the roster.  We’re coming in last-minute, so Niall will probably be right about eating their dust.”

“I’ll get the animals around,” Wesley said, and grabbing his brother, “You’re with me.”

Ezra walked off, leaving me with Clay.  He gazed down at me thoughtfully.  We stared at each other for long seconds, me waiting for him to quit it with the blatant staring, and him not seeming bothered by the impropriety of it.

Finally, I’d had enough.  “Damn it, I can’t take it anymore.  I can’t frickin’ breathe in this thing.  I’m changing.”

More blue-eyed stare.

“Do you have any idea where the clothes were stowed?  I need a dress.  The plainer, the better.”  I’d bought a couple.  They had to be in one of these wagons somewh—

He’d leaned back in and came up with a length of cloth of a faint greenish hue with fine pinstripes.  He tossed it to me.

“Yes,” I said, holding it up.  I’d never seen an uglier dress in my life, and had never been more happy to do so.

A few minutes later, I stepped down from the roomier of the two wagons in a green satin gown.  “What the hell?” I demanded, except Clay was no longer there.  The ugly green cotton dress had transformed itself the moment I put it on.  I now wore a gown of green and black satin, with a matching corset, a band of lace barely containing my breasts, and a plume of black feathers towering over the arch of my hat.  This was hardly any better than the first one!  It certainly wasn’t easier to breathe in, and the skirts were even more voluminous.

Someone wolf-whistled, and I shot them a flirtatious glance.  Realizing what I was doing, I straightened, aghast.  In the real world, I would’ve shot them the finger, not a come-hither look.  What had this game and my new profession done to me?

“They’ll have us,” a returning Ezra said.  “There’s just one last question.”

“What’s that?”

“Would you like to rest here, go into town, see who’s around, or are you ready to go?”

I gazed up at him, thinking the first three choices would only delay the inevitable.  I was in this, whatever this was, and I suspected I’d have to see it through to its end.  “I’m ready to go.”

He nodded.  “I really thought you’d’ve put on more comfortable traveling clothes.”

“Ha, ha,” I said, and picking up my skirts, stalked away.