Thomas entered the dimly lit home after Brassus, walking into the kitchen area of a small interior. The home, more like a hut, was essentially a one hallway. The kitchen and door on one side that led to a small opening with a table and a few chair, from there was three doors. Cabinets and drawers lined the walls from the kitchen to the seating area, stopping as the building narrowed into a hallway to the three doors. Two of the doors led into small rooms each with a bed, the last room held a small bathroom. A single window above the table lit the small hut.
Brassus shambled towards the sitting area and fumbled with a drawer before removing a small lighter. He opened the cabinets above to reveal many candlelit lanterns. Brassus removed a single lantern and lit it before setting it on the table. A warm glow emanated from the candle, flickering with the flame, it illuminated the whole hut. Brassus sat down at one of the chairs in front of the table and kicked another out from the table. He waved his hand to Thomas to sit.
Thomas sat down in one of the creaky old chairs, taking in the surrounding. The smell of dirt and must filled not only his nostrils, but his lungs as well. He leaned over the table, noticing a couple playing cards scattered across it. Brassus removed a large cigar from his shirt pocket and began to light it the end while he held it.
Thomas stared at Brassus as he did, taken in by how much the man had really changed over the ten years he knew him. Its only when you don’t have them around, do you realize how much the image of someone you have in your head is wrong. Thomas had only just realized how wrongly he imagined Brassus.
No longer was his short, buzzed hair a deep brown, but instead a fading grey with frosted white tips. His long beard was now nothing more than a patchwork of whiskers. His once strong arms now sagged around his bones, only little bits of muscle still remaining. The man was old, at least in his sixties, though Thomas had never asked.
“How long you here for?” Brassus asked quietly as he brought his cigar to his mouth. He let out a few quick puffs of the cigar.
“Just to say goodbye, Osman wants to refuel nearby and keep going.” Thomas replied as he watched his former mentor.
“That old coot, he got you hunting Wyatt with him?” Brassus coughed to himself as he puffed on his cigar.
“Nearest refueling station is still about an hour’s flight from here,” he said, his accent drawing on each syllable. A slight twang could be heard in his voice, the kind you hear in every farmer’s voice. The kind of twang that ‘civilized’ men laughed at and mocked. He looked up from his table and turned to Thomas.
“Sun’ll be down in about two, no station here will fill a tank past then, it’s a bad omen or something I forget.” Brassus sighed and threw his hands on the table. He began collecting the cards on the table together into a single stack in his left hand.
“I don’t think I can play a game sir,” Thomas said quietly as Brassus began shuffling the deck.
“I don’t wanna play with you boy, Slave’ll be back before sundown, I like a good wager.” Brassus quickly shot back.
“Slave?” Thomas muttered to Brassus.
“You own a slave?” He said abrasively to the old man as he still shuffled his cards.
“Sure do, who else would run the farm while I was in the service. My brother dropped dead at five, my sister went and married herself a lawyer. Couldn’t sell it. Couldn’t make money off it, so I spent the last of my wates and bought some slaves to run it. Too bad most ‘em died off tryna run the place. Just leaves Old Slave now,” Brassus coldly sneered back to Thomas. Thomas felt pity for the old man for a second before shaking it off and glaring at the old man.
“Slavin’ ain’t right.” Thomas flatly responded. Brassus let go of the cards in his hands, letting them fall to the table and ground around him. He quickly slammed his hand on the edge of the table and turned back to Thomas, nearing his face to the young man’s.
“Boy would you quit being a hardass, you gotta open your eyes to the way the world works and quick. You think you can go around wearing that jacket and that badge saying backwards shit like that?” Brassus’ hand gripped the edge of the table, and he flipped it as his voice began to climb to a deep roar. The lantern went out as it crashed into the ground leaving the room dimly lit once more.
“This the way the world works, wearing that badge means you uphold the order of that world. You not only stand for what the government says is right, you are an enforcer of that law. What would happen if my Slave had walked in and heard you, a lawman, say that? Well he’d be halfway down the town screaming to every other slave ‘We free We free’!” Brassus screamed as he stood over the still sitting Thomas, paralyzing the boy with fear.
Brassus began to slow his breathing as he turned around and picked up the chair he had been sitting in. He set it back up where it had been and began looking around at his feet. He found his still lit cigar on the ground, burning a hole in a playing card. Brassus puffed on the cigar as he sat back to face Thomas. The ember of the cigar lit half his face as he smoked.
“You need to be worrying about what you’re doing,” Brassus said icily as he extended his arm and his finger and poked Thomas in the chest.
“Me?” Thomas quickly shot back, his voice pitching up like a squeak.
“Hunting Wyatt, ha, what a joke,” Brassus said as he began picking up the cards off the floor. Thomas stood up and grabbed the table, flipping it back and setting it down lightly where it had been moments before. He picked up the lantern and with his thumb lit the candle.
“It’s not a joke anymore, didn’t you hear? While we were on that island Wyatt up and made an outlaw of himself. Fate has finally thrown me a bone,” Thomas sternly spoke as he set the lantern on the table before sitting himself back down to face Brassus. The flame quickly changed from black to a normal amber, illuminating the room once more as it did.
Brassus looked up to Thomas and stared at him for a few moments. The air between them was tense and thin, like ice. The slightest wrong move or wrong word out of either of them would shatter the tension. Yet they both glared at each other, never breaking eye contact, never moving. Brassus finally blinked and began to ease up and sat back in his chair. His eyes never left Thomas’ gaze. The flickering lantern danced shadows across the two men’s faces.
“Osman is crazy I shoulda never answered him when he asked about you. That old man has been playin the game for so long, he don’t even know he’s still playing.” Brassus weakly muttered as he began picking up his cards. He waited for the dancing light to skitter across the floor to reveal his cards to him.
He slowly looked up to face Thomas, the light quickly illuminating his face as he did.
“Nothing in your life so far has prepared you to face Wyatt.” He flatly said as he returned his face to the ground scanning for cards. Brassus moved to scoop them up, but Thomas stomped his foot over the group of cards, nearly stomping the old man’s hand.
“What do you mean nothing has prepared me?” Thomas angrily responded. He grabbed hold of his jacket and tugged on it.
“What does this mean huh? It means I’m ready to go out and hunt any outlaw. I mean what did I spend ten years on that island for anyways? I thought it was to toughen me up,”
“Just having the jacket doesn’t mean shit Thomas.” Brassus replied as he gripped Thomas’ ankle and lifted his foot off the cards. He swiftly scooped the cards up with his free hand and dropped Thomas’ ankle. He sat back up and faced Thomas.
“That island trained you to survive, but if you go in against Wyatt just tryna survive, he will kill you. To kill that man, you have to be the hunter not him,”
“Yea that’s why I’m pairing up with Osman, we’ll hunt him together,” Thomas giddily said before Brassus cut him off by raising a hand. He lowered his hand and Thomas’ gaze met his again.
“No I mean in battle. Wyatt is the fastest draw, the surest shot, and the quickest killer. Not for a second can he think he’s in control, that’s all he needs to change the tide of a battle.” Brassus stood up.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Sun’s gon’ be setting here soon boy, why don’t you go on back to Osman. I’m sure he’s tired of the town folk gawking at his aerocraft,” Brassus spoke softly as he shambled to the door and began to open it. Thomas raised from his seat and began walking to the door. He stopped before walking out, exchanging one last stare from Brassus before they both nodded, and Thomas left.
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“No I’ve told ya’ll I am just here for a second,”
“Well then go on an git,”
“No, you see my partner is coming back, the guy you guys saw walk into town, I can’t leave him,”
“I don’t trust ‘em, nuh uh, not one bit”
Osman argued with the two farmers as he waited for Thomas to return. The sun was slowly beginning its daily descent down the horizon, painting the sky a beautiful slew of blues, oranges, and purples.
Soon enough, Thomas rounded around the bend beyond the field where the Stinger sat. He strolled down the dusty path towards the field waving his hand and calling out to Osman, though the old man could barely hear him. Eventually as the young man neared, his voice daintily reached the old man’s eardrums.
“Osman! Get the engines going we can’t refuel past sundown here!”
“What! This a sundown state?” Osman frantically said as he shot off the Stinger and threw the door open. The two farmers stood in dismay as the Stinger aligned itself horizontal to the ground. Thomas began running down the path towards the craft, as the farmers began running away. The main rotor blades began to slowly spin as Thomas neared. He hopped in the open door, slamming it behind him, as the jet engines began to rev up.
The Stinger rose from the ground, Osman at the controls, ever so slowly until it began climbing high above the small town. The tail of the craft folded back out, and the jets hit their maxim. Osman pushed a small handle forward on the control panel, and the stinger lurched forward. It hurtled through the skies towards the coast.
As the Stinger soared, Thomas began to doze off in the silence. In and out he went, like the swinging of a pendulum.
Boy
Booyy
BOY!
As the young man slept, a familiar voice called out to him from the depths of his mind. He could not remember who it was or when he had heard it first. Once he awoke to the voice, he returned to the silent Stinger, Osman passed out in his chair in the dark cockpit. Thomas dazed out the window to see a vast sea of darkness, the moons rays shining down on the waves far beneath them.
He refueled while I slept.
Thomas gazed back at Osman, slumped over in his chair. His snores came like clockwork, every few seconds filling the void of silence with a wheezed inhale and a snorting exhale. Occasionally he would snore so hard he would wake himself for a brief moment before instantly returning to sleep and back to snoring. Thomas found it amusing, the way the old man slept like a dog slumped over whatever he could find. Thomas too returned to his curled position in his chair and closed his eyes. In the briefest of moments, he was fast asleep.
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Thomas awoke to a quick loud hum that filled the cockpit. He jostled awake to see Osman already sitting up fiddling with controls on the panel and dashboard. Osman flicked the light in the cockpit on once he noticed Thomas awakening.
“We about fifteen minutes out,” He said softly, his voice still hoarse from his vicious snoring session.
“We gon’ stop in a city, get a room, sleep and hit the village at dawn. Kang’e won’t be too thrilled to be awoken to our arrival.” The old man continued as he still zipped away at the controls.
“Kang’e?” Thomas softly replied as he rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up.
“That’s the shaman I’m taking you to, old friend of mine,” Osman replied hoarsely.
“They know we coming?” Thomas countered.
“Oh yea she’s got a feeling I’m sure,” Osman replied as he began a small coughing fit. He scooted his chair back from the controls and began coughing until he spit up a small bit of mucus onto the floor beneath him.
“So why do we gotta go see a shaman to hunt Wyatt?” Thomas asked, his curiosity had been building over the day. Osman looked up from his coughing fit and smiled at the boy.
“Gotta get you ready Tombstone,” as he spoke his pupils grew. They slowly dilated back to their normal size as he sat back up and slid his chair to the control panel.
“You don’t think I’m ready? Are you sure-“
“Don’t start second guessing me boy,” Osman cut in with, slightly raising his voice.
“Now this is my last chance at fame, Fate swindled me twice before but not this time. You hear me?” He said as he stared at Thomas, his eyes slowly glazing over.
“Fate swindled you?” was all Thomas could think to ask. He could hear how much it meant to Osman, and he wanted to learn more about the man. It occurred to him when he began his walk with Osman that he did not know him. He could barely remember him from that day ten years ago, yet Osman clearly thought of them as brothers or something in the like.
“You knew Morgan didn’t you,” Thomas quickly surmised and spoke without thinking.
The glaze in Osman’s eyes faded. He sat back in his chair and turned to look out the windshield at the vast sea of darkness. Far in the horizon a small glimmer of light could be seen in the sea of darkness. The little glimmer reflected into the old man’s eyes as he stared at it.
“He was my best friend, we became lawman together, we hunted our first bounties together. When Calamity came, I called him a madman for starting that gang to hunt him down,” Osman began to choke up a bit before taking a few breaths and continuing.
“Morgan found his fame and I faded into obscurity. Him becoming an outlaw, it was like his last gesture to me as a friend. I knew I had to be the one to kill him, not only would I get fame but who else better to end the great Morgan Brooks than his best friend. I joined up with Wyatt to hunt him down. He promised me if I helped him find Morgan, he’d let me kill him. Wyatt was crooked the whole way tracking Morgan, and sure as shit he went and broke his end of our arrangement when we found Morgan.” Osman turned back to face Thomas, his eyes getting that same glaze again.
“Wyatt got the fame, and I again was just another shadow behind the big name. But I had dirt on him and the rest of his gang, turned the state against ‘em and now when I kill Wyatt my name, Sanders Osman, will be forever remembered.”
Osman turned back and continued fiddling with the control panel, as Thomas stared out the windshield at the growing glimmer of light. The two sat in silence as Osman sparked a cigarette. In minutes the glimmer had grown into a vast sea of lights and buildings. Thomas stared out the window next to him at the thousands of people below them.
“They say these cities out here never sleep,” Osman said as they neared a small hangar at the edge of the city.
“You seen a slave?”
“No sir,” Thomas replied coldly.
“They use ‘em for damn near everything here, say they’ve elevated beyond the need to do basic things themselves. Out here that jacket your wearing means nothing. We got no jurisdiction, I don’t want you raising any arms over any grievances you might have with their way of living.” Osman said as the Stinger slowly slowed and approached the hangar.
“Think of yourself as an ambassador for our country while you’re here.” He continued as the stinger slowly landed in front of the hangar. Osman walked the stinger into a small bay and lowered his side. He opened his door and he and Thomas got out before Osman grabbed their bags. There was a dark skinned man in plain brown clothes standing near the wall of the bay. His dark skin was covered in darker scars and bruises, his eyes stared down at the ground. His curly short hair was bundled into many small knots.
The man’s clothes looked like rags. He slowly approached Osman and Thomas. Osman threw a small set of keys to the man who caught them and returned to the wall before entering into a hidden door.
The two lawmen continued on from the hangar into the streets of the city. They towered above the many passersby on the street, heading on towards a small building with a neon bed sign above it. Streetlamps and cars filled the streets, each building lit up with many neon signs indicating what it was.
Drug stores, liquor stores, clothing shops, markets, restaurants, you name it the city had it all on every block. Thomas was amazed by the vast array of buildings in the extravagant city. He and Osman neared that small bed signed building and swiftly entered in.
Within was a small room with two metal doors on either side, a small desk sat opposing the front door. Two dark skinned men, again in rag clothing, stood on either side of the desk with a small wrinkled woman standing behind it. Behind her sat a large wall of keys, some here and there missing leaving an empty hook. The two men also sported similar scars and bruises and knotted hair.
The wrinkles on the woman’s body dropped like soggy meat, her eyes so far sunken behind them it was impossible to see their color. Her white hair was tied in a tight bun behind her head exposing her large ears, the lobes almost hanging to her shoulders.
“Room for two” She quickly spoke. Osman nodded and began rustling in his pocket before removing his wallet.
“Two wate,” the little woman said again swiftly. Osman opened his wallet and removed two small silver coins that he set on the table. The woman turned behind her to the array of keys and grabbed a single pair. She turned back and handed it to Osman before clapping her hands twice.
The two ragged clothed men walked to one of the two metal doors and opened it to reveal a small metal room barely big enough for three people. Osman and Thomas entered into the small room before the two men closed the metal doors. Slowly the little metal room began raising up, a loud scraping sound emanated from the walls as it did. Eventually the little room stopped rising, and the metal doors were opened by two more scarred men. Osman and Thomas exited out into a small hallway filled with doors. Each door contained a number, all starting with the number ‘3’.
Osman looked at the keys the woman handed him and set off checking each door as he walked down the hall. Eventually he stopped before a door and approached it, fumbling one of the keys into it, and opening it up. The two men entered into a small room fitted with two beds, a window, and a small bathroom.
Osman threw his duffle bag onto the nearest bed and entered the small bathroom. A click of the lock was briefly heard before a small fan turned on inside. Thomas continued on further, dropping his bag at the foot of the other bed and slumping onto it.
He slowly undressed, pulling his boots off and resting his jacket on one end of his bed. Thomas threw his pants and undershirt into a small pile at the base of his bed, leaving him only in his underwear. He set his hat on the nightstand between the beds before crawling under the perfectly made sheets and laying his head on the pillow. No sooner than his head hit that pillow did Thomas fall fast asleep. As he slept, that same familiar voice began calling out to him once more.
Boy
Booyy