by Gaston Hiegmond
Nobody
knew where he came from or who he might have been before his arrival.
He called himself John, and claimed to have come from the East. John
would never say exactly where in the East he had come from.
But then again, the air of mystery John brought to our quaint little town
was irreplaceable. There would not have been anything special about
his presence had he told us his full name and exact point of origin.
He would have been just another traveler.
He arrived on foot late
one night. The fact that his clothing was unwrinkled and perfectly
clean sparked the whole town's curiosity. It was one thing to show
up in our desolate town on foot, but everything changed when you showed
up in anything less than dust-ridden rags.
The town was weeks away
from any other settlement. It was surrounded by miles of desert.
Beyond the desert there were miles of rugged mountains. Beyond the
rugged mountains lay the small mining town of Halfton. There was
not a single coach in the West that would dare traverse the stretch of
land between Halfton and our rickety town, Pillesburg. We were completely
cut off from the rest of the world.
Of course, that was the
reason people came to our town, to escape from the world. The horrors
of war and politics never reached our ears. The population was incredibly
small, but completely carefree and happy. Most wandering strangers
settled down within our borders, unable to resist the peace and quiet that
Pillesburg had to offer.
John strode into the town
at exactly midnight. His perfectly pressed suit and shiny new shoes
were fit for royalty. At such an unholy hour, only a few townsfolk
were awake, and I was one of them. I was standing on my front porch,
looking to the stars. I first caught sight of John
as he made his way through northern entrance of the town. Travelers
were embraced at all hours of the day and night, so naturally, I approached
him. As I neared him my eyes fell upon his unsoiled attire.
My curiosity peaked and I quickened my pace.
"Welcome to Pillesburg,"
I smiled.
"Thank you." He paused
and extended his hand, "I am John."
We shook hands and I introduced
myself. Despite my greatest efforts, I
could not convince John to give a single detail on his means of arrival.
He merely smiled and said it was "not important." There was something
else about John that I didn’t understand. He had an air about him
that was either a general sadness, or a deep impression of hopelessness;
I was not sure which. There was sorrow in his dark eyes, as though
he had just witnessed the death of a close friend. I had seen such
a look in my father's eyes years ago, when he returned home from
the war. But I did not pry into John’s personal dilemmas. Instead
I offered him a place to stay and left him to battle his own demons.
The next morning the town
was buzzing with rumors. I had not been the only witness to John’s
mysterious arrival. And in Pillesburg gossip traveled fast.
A small cluster of men was gathered behind the dry goods store. In
the center of the cluster stood John. I moved closer and realized
that he was giving a speech of some sort.
"…and never again will I
trust a politician." The men all burst into laughter. Grinning,
John motioned for silence and continued, "Tonight I want you all to be
prepared for the worst." John was no longer smiling, "I have come
here for one reason, to warn the good folks of Pillesburg of
the upcoming attack. Keep your guns loaded and make sure the
women and children stay inside."
"Who’s gonna attack us?"
Someone blurted.
John hesitated, "All I can
tell you is this much; they will not stop until they’ve wiped out
this whole town."
By now the small crowd had
almost doubled in size.
"Are they injuns?"
asked a crippled old man.
John shook his head, "They
are not."
By now everyone was mumbling
to each other in hushed voices, there was fear in the air. The crowd
parted for John as he strode off toward the guest house I had put him up
in. I fell into step beside him and asked, "What’s going on?"
"There’s going to be a massacre
tonight." He replied. "Nobody will survive."
I was confused, "Massacre?"
"Yes, that’s right."
"Who is this mysterious
enemy we face?" I asked.
John slowed his pace, "The
town of Pillesburg sits in a very sensitive place… There are those
who place human life on a very low scale when wealth comes into the picture."
His statement only deepened
my curiosity. "What does wealth have to do with Pillesburg.
We have nothing."
John smiled, "Beneath this
soil lies all the wealth a man could need."
I did not hide my confusion.
"Tell me something,"
John asked, "Who would notice if Pillesburg was destroyed?"
I shrugged, "Nobody.
We have no connection to the rest of the country."
"Exactly. Nobody would
know. Nobody would care. Nothing would change."
"I don’t understand…"
"Understand this," His tone
was suddenly laced with sadness. "Tonight Pillesburg will die.
I could not, in good conscious, let them come in and kill you all in your
sleep. I had to try. At least this way you’ll take some of
the bastards with you."
"Who?"
John was not eager to answer
any questions. "You cannot understand. I assure you, it is
not possible." He began walking faster. "They will not stop
until you are all dead. If you want to live then you must leave now."
How could I leave?
The journey to Halfton could not be made without a horse. I did not
own a horse…
"I must leave now, or they
will know that I have come to warn you. I have too much at stake
to stay any longer." John strode toward the northern entrance.
I watched him go, confused
and frightened. My mind was swimming in doubts and worries.
What was going on?
At sunset the town was ready
for the attack. Every able man held a weapon of some sort, every
one of them was prepared to kill. Yet doubt hung in the air.
Nobody knew what to expect. Where would the enemy come from? Who
would this mysterious enemy be? I had my father's musket and a boot
knife with me, yet I felt more vulnerable than ever. According to
John, we stood no chance against this enemy. We were as good as dead.
I did not tell anyone of my
conversation with John. I knew that his words would merely awaken
the panic that hid within each man’s mind.
I walked nervously toward
the northern entrance, where I had last seen John. In the failing
light I saw movement. A human figure lay twitching in the dust a
few yards north. I moved cautiously towards the fallen form.
As I drew near I recognized it to be John. He looked up as I
approached.
"John? What happened?"
He was beaten and bruised,
his left leg appeared to be broken. "They found me out…" His
voice was weak. "They…" he winced in pain, "My family… They
killed them…"
I did not know who "they"
were, but somehow I knew that "they" were on their way to Pillesburg
this very moment. "Why did you come back?" I asked.
"I escaped…" He broke
into a series of throaty coughs, "They will be here soon…"
I nodded.
"You must run… Hide…
It will be safe to come back in… a week…" John’s breath
came in short gasps now. He would not last much longer.
"No." I said simply.
"We will stop them. I will not run out on my friends."
"You stubborn prick."
John smiled painfully, "Kill one for me."
Those were the last words
John ever spoke.
I returned to the town and
took my place at the front porch. I intended to kill more than one
of the monsters that was to attack. The opportunity came at exactly
midnight. Dozens of dark figures appeared from all directions.
They rushed in blindly, not ready for the maelstrom we released in their
direction. They returned fire in a panicky fashion, firing in every
direction and hitting nothing. Their weapons barked, spewing endless
volleys of lead through the air. Yet we
took out the entire first wave with our simple muskets and six shooters.
By the time the second wave
arrived, the townsfolk had armed themselves with the weapons of the fallen
enemy. We took apart the next two waves with ease. But with
the forth wave came death. I watched in horror as one of the dark
figures fired an explosive round into the Corry home.
John had been right, they were going to kill us all.
The last of the forth wave
finally fell to Jimmy Ray’s custom made long range musket. There
were less than a dozen of us left and we all new that the battle was hopeless.
By the time the fifth wave had fallen it was just me and two other men.
Without thinking twice, we ran for the hills.
A bullet struck the man
beside me as we ran. His skull emptied out it’s contents onto my
shoulder and he toppled to the ground. I did not slow. The
second man did, however, and his lifeless corpse hit the dust, nearly a
dozen fresh holes in his back side.
I ran for an eternity.
Morning came and I collapsed beside a small pond. In the distance
I
could see the mountain tops, Halfton lay ahead. Perhaps I could
make it.
*
Several weeks later I returned
to Pillesburg. I was not suprised to find every trace of the town
gone. Not even a single piece of timber lay discarded on the dusty
desert floor. In what
had been the center of the town there was a small hole. The ground
surrounding the hole had sunken in as though someone had sucked Mother
Earth’s very guts out.
John had said something
about riches beneath the soil. I wondered what those men had taken
out of the ground. Had it been gold? Silver? Whatever it was, they
had valued it more than our lives. I sighed. Taking wealth
and riches over life could mean only one thing, our attackers had undoubtedly
been human.
The End
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