Paul is waiting for Crank and Simone in the square when they finally head outside. He stands with his wooden leg propped on the water trough. Seeing them approach, Paul grins and straightens himself.

Simone returns his smile, walking a bit faster. Only a few paces behind Simone, Crank drunkenly stumbles. Simone swivels in Crank’s direction, her smile fading.

“Crank?” Simone says.

Sensing that something is terribly wrong, Simone calls to him again. She watches, concern etched on her face, as Crank shake his head vigorously. The yautja hunter appears utterly confused. Crank's brow knits and the faux flesh covering his cheeks pulls and stretches under the pressure of his gnashing mouthparts. Simone takes a step in Crank's direction. Paul’s angry shout causes Simone to stop short and spin halfway around.

“Don’t you move!” Paul yells loud enough to be heard across the town square.

Simone is stunned to find a pistol pointed at her. Paul glares at Simone with narrowed eyes, his smile turning into a sinister sneer. A sharp wind gust blows the tail of Paul's coat. For the briefest of moments, Paul looks every bit the part of a rogue gunslinger.

“I’m not kidding! Don’t move another muscle, Simone.” Paul commands. “Stay right where you are!”

Simone’s concern for Crank’s wellbeing grows as he goes down on one knee. He is struggling to stay erect, one large palm pressed firmly into the sandy dirt.

“Paul? What is—,” Simone exclaims before she is promptly interrupted.

Paul points the pistol aggressively in Simone’s direction. He shakes his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“And don’t talk neither,” Paul demands in his usual drawl. “Your voice is starting to annoy me.”

Paul levels the gun at Crank. The intensity of hate behind his sneer increases ten-fold.

“Seems like our spaceman isn’t quite invincible after all,” Paul observes, his laughter turning cruel. “Taken down by a healthy dose of opium. Courtesy of our illustrious friend, Sherlock Holmes. Rubbed it on that nearly raw steak of yours. Thought about putting it in the punch, but I really just wanted the spaceman. Had to figure out how much would be enough for your large friend there. Sure, it took a bit more and a lot longer than I'd expected. Ingesting it, the way you did. But better late than never, eh?”

“Paul?” Simone appeals, looking from him to Crank. “Why are you doing this?”

Paul’s expression shifts to one of blind rage and he takes another single step forward. His eyes lock on Simone's and his mouth droops.

“Why?” Paul begins. “Because some people, even ugly spacemen…Get all the luck. Some people just don’t realize what they have…Until it’s gone. I've lost everything. Time and time again. So many times, I just got used to being alone. After losing Jane, Babe was the only good thing I had left in this world...Or any world. Until I landed in that diner. Hector treated me like a human being. He was like a brother to me. Hadn't felt that in a long time. And then, you came along. As fate would have it...So did the spaceman. I imagine if he'd stayed where he belonged...Things might have been different between us. Maybe. Or maybe you would've been like so many others. Passing through and treating me with utter contempt. I'd like to believe...It could have been the former. Besides this place, this limbo, I've never been able to return to a place I've previously left. That life I had is gone."

Paul levels his gun at Simone’s chest and his stern scowl returns.

“I lied when I said I had no idea what I’m doing here,” Paul states in a calm voice. “Well, not really a lie. Just an omission. A suspicion really. As I told you before, this is home. The first thing I ever saw in my life. Any time, I've phased out…Went to another place…Another time…It was because I was dead. A gun battle once, a drowning, a hanging, and then that avalanche. Each time I found myself in a new place, I reinvented myself. I had to. Until this last time. I just couldn't get Jane off my mind. I loved that ole girl. And that new world, with its fancy contraptions, made me feel so disconnected to everything I knew. Drinking came easy. Then, there was that incident at the diner. My best guess is, your space friend did more than give me a love tap. That space cretin actually killed me. And it was dumb luck that he was in physical contact with me when I phased out. You simply joined us for the trip because he was holding your hand when he punched me. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It all adds up.”

A voice calling loudly across the square draws Paul Bunyan’s attention away. Simone follows his gaze. Sherlock Holmes is stumbling in their direction, one finger in the air, and a dumb smile on his inebriated face.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“You know what I always say, Watson?” Sherlock says in a slurred voice. “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

Paul lets out an exasperated sigh. Aiming his pistol at the Englishman, he shoots Sherlock Holmes right between the eyes. The detective’s body hits the ground with a heavy thud. Simone screams loudly, but covers her mouth when Paul Bunyan turns the weapon on her.

“Oh my god, Paul!” Simone cries. Tears stream down her face. “You killed him, Paul! You murdered him!”

“He—” Paul explains. “Was never really here. I've released him. He may resurface pretty much in the same place he left. No harm done.”

Simone’s face twists into an equally angry scowl and she goes to Crank’s side, supporting him with her weight.

“I said, don’t move!” Paul roars.

Paul's finger trembles on the trigger of his pistol. Simone ignores him, struggling to help Crank stand.

“You want to shoot me? Shoot me!” Simone retorts. “I’m going to help him. No matter what you say!”

She stares into Crank’s unfocused eyes. Paul’s laughter fills the square and Simone flinches. Such a cruel laugh. She would never have thought him capable of such cruelty. Is this what unrequited love, and estrangement, did to a person?

“On second thought,” Paul says. “Help the spaceman up. I want him to be standing when I kill him. Come on. Get him up! Up, Up!”

Simone helps Crank to stand, tears rolling down her cheeks. Crank locks eyes with Paul Bunyan and roars loudly. The effort is so much that it rips the edges of his disguise, mandibles protruding partially from underneath the fake flesh. Paul’s cruel laugh echoes through the still air once more.

“That’s it, spaceman. Get angry,” Paul taunts. “You and I…Are gonna have ourselves a little duel. You and your fancy space weapons. Me and my gun. Think you can beat me, spaceman? I know you’ve just been itching to add my massive skull to your collection. Go ahead. Assemble your weapons. I’ll wait.”

Crank, in his somewhat high state, isn’t sure of much of anything. His thoughts seem muddled, slow. However, one thing he does know for certain: he will do whatever is necessary to protect Simone. Maybe he and the lumberjack will manage to take each other out?

Paul Bunyan continues talking, as Crank affixes the cannon to his shoulder. Paul’s bravado grows with each new boast.

“The thing is…I have unlimited lives,” Paul says with a laugh which ends in a snort. “Do you?”

With a movement which seems both very fast, and yet extremely slow, Paul Bunyan lifts the back of his coat and withdraws a long rifle. Crank’s slower than usual reflexes kick in, and he attempts to bring his weapon to bear, but not before a rifle shot blasts his shoulder cannon from its perch. Paul laughs his cruel laugh again as the space weapon goes spinning through the air.

“Ha! Gonna have to try harder than that, spaceman,” Paul chuckles.

He fires the rifle a second time, the second round catching Crank in the same shoulder where his cannon was knocked off. Crank roars, and stumbles backward, nearly losing his footing. However, being a yautja; he recovers his composure rather quickly. Bending at the waist and uttering a guttural roar, Crank challenges Paul to shoot him again.

Simone grabs at Crank’s arm, encouraging him to save himself—not to fight. Crank gently pushes her away. He does not want her in Paul’s line of fire. If he is to die this day, he will do so with honor. He will do so to protect Simone—to honor his word as a yautja. He will die fighting.

Paul begins reloading the rifle. Crank takes this opportunity to charge him. Paul, still believing he has the advantage, raises the rifle and clicks it shut. Crank pulls back the hand holding the concealed throwing disc and lets it fly.

Paul’s eyes widen as the disc speeds in his direction. The lumberjack is thrown into the air from the force of the disc connecting with his sternum. Paul slams into the ground with a sickening thud.

Crank plants his feet, sliding a meter or so in the dirt—such was his forward momentum. He approaches the downed frontiersman with cautious steps. Simone runs up behind him, pawing at his injured shoulder with concern.

Crank politely shakes Simone off a second time and goes to stand next to Paul Bunyan. He looks down at Paul with violence in his eyes. The lumberjack only smiles, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and splattering when he struggles to speak.

“I knew…I knew I had to get you mad enough to kill me,” Paul explains, his eyes tearing up. “It wouldn’t have worked otherwise. You wouldn’t have had it in ya. It had to be done this way. It’s the only way you can go back. You were never supposed to be here in the first place.”

Paul weakly holds out his hand to Crank.

“Take my hand, spaceman,” Paul demands. “You have to be touching me when I pass from this world. The lady too.”

Simone hugs her middle, sobs racking her body. Crank takes Paul’s hand and grips it firmly—feeling a strange sadness for the ooman who sacrificed so much. For him…And for Simone. Never has he felt that an ooman male was anything more than an adversary to be vanquished. This particular ooman changes that quite a bit.

“Hurry—Simone,” Paul gasps through mouthfuls of blood. “There isn’t much time.”

Crank holds out his hand to Simone and she takes it, kneeling beside Paul Bunyan. Paul manages a small wink.

“It’s been fun,” he teases. “Maybe…We’ll meet again. Jane, I’m coming home.”

With those, his final words, Paul Bunyan breathes his last breath. Paul’s eyes remain open, staring unseeing at the sky. A rumbling begins in the east and Crank turns to look. As far as the eye can see in that direction are dark angry clouds. Colorful streaks of lightning arc from ground to sky. Crank holds Simone close, crushing her to his chest. Simone wraps her arms around his middle, squeezing her eyes shut and trying desperately to swallow her fear.

The winds hit them with the force of a hurricane, knocking them flat atop Paul’s still form. Crank shields Simone as much as he can against the pelting sand and other debris. The buildings in the ghost town shake on their foundations as the gale continues. Crank growls deep in his throat and pulls Simone still tighter. He kisses the flesh below her ear. And then, everything goes dark.