Dystopia Chapter 16: Dusted By Death

We hustled homeward, empty-handed, while avoiding obstacles along the trail. Approaching, I noticed a small group had gathered, applauding? Celebrating our safe return? I did not realize a welcome committee existed. Soon realized there was a great interest in the failure of, or success of, a team’s return. They were about to be disappointed. We all made it out alive, although it came at the cost of death and suffering for others. Frank, still looking back, watching from a distance, observed bodies being collected. Rarely was he quiet, speechless, now realizing this was no longer a diversion.

The other gang had filled the vacuum and was now finishing the inhumanity. Human vultures scavenging off the others, collecting weapons, their horses, emptying pockets, leaving the bodies to be collected or…

As we pulled into the corral, the interested stepped forward to peek inside the wagon. Empty. Words are not required. Their expression of disappointment, sprinkled with a few obscenities, disgusted looks; message received.

Slowly, they turned and walked away, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. We now hitched our horses, removed saddles, brushed and fed them, bedded them for the night, and then stood speechless, inconsolable. The vibe was cold, the mood frosty, the night air chilling, and not in a good way.

I felt nauseous. This was not who I was, forced into a role I did not choose, driven by fear, no longer at peace. I could not make eye contact; eyes down, I shuffled off.

Others peeled off, wandering back to their respective lodgings. Me, to my corner of the world. Without even a stick of wood to feed the chiminea. The smell of death surrounding each one. And failure. Sun slipping behind the horizon, temperature dropping, hungry but lacking the energy to even walk to the kitchen. Back in the good old days, I used to eat.

Upon entering, my room was dark. Exhaustion setting in, washing hands and face, hoping to remove the smell of gun residue. Removing a layer of dust-covered clothing, too tired to clean up, too cold, abruptly realized I was not alone.

“It’s warmer in here. Want to join me?” a gentle voice invited.

The murky darkness illuminated by small bursts of light, not knowing who it was, but too exhausted to worry. A warm body was a welcome comfort. Slid slowly in, smelled fresh, went with the moment. Guess we’ll exchange names later.

“Heard you all had a tough day,” she noted, her breath warm. “Welcome home.”

“True, but alive,” I mumbled as I faded off, spooning.

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