Outlaws

The memory of the robbery is fresh in my head, we have taken the only witness as captive. I don’t see why, he’s so drunk he won’t be able to remember anything any way. I was supposed to be a witness to, but I was the one who stole the money. There is no way I can go back. What if there were other witnesses that we didn’t see?

We are moving camp so I have to survive the long hard journey through the desert on foot. The captive has my horse because I’m the new guy. “Let him have one last moment of dignity,” they said. “We have to test you,” they stated, laughing as they looked me up and down, “You don’t look like the outlaw type.” I am going to prove them wrong. They’ll see! I’m going to prove them wrong.

I’m in a world of orange, a world of fine orange grains and orange wind. Wind so savage it pounces at the first living thing it sees, whirling and whooshing it surrounds its prey and suffocates the unsuspecting target. And then as fast as it came, the wind goes, leaving a dusty carcass among tumble weeds and graves of other unsuspecting victims. There is no-where to run, but this is where everyone runs to. The only problem is, here there is little chance of survival. This is the Wild West. The robbery has left me an outlaw.

My feet are getting heavy, it feels like the sand is trying to suck me into its depths. With each step the vacuum gets stronger. The sweat is dripping down my face, it tastes salty as the constant trickle drips down my throat. Even with the persistent drizzle of sweat, my mouth is still as dry as the landscape around me. The sun is beating down on me, the heat feels like a blanket of rays has just been thrown over me. Even the air is thinning as I trudge deeper and deeper into the desert.

It’s been hours with no food or water. The prisoner keeps laughing at me while he rides behind on

My horse, I guess it’s a good thing, he is way too tipsy to walk.

My legs cave in and I fall, face first, into the fiery sand. With handfuls of sand, I pull myself along. The sun is now just above the horizon, laughing at me, along with the men, as if it knows I’m suffering. My vision is becoming blurry. The last thing I see is a silhouette of a man and then my head hits the sand and I’m gone…

I can hear crackling and spitting. I open my eyes and see the dancing flames of a fire, but still the air is cold. That’s what they say about the desert, its living hell. During the day it feels as if you have been thrown in a furnace but at night it’s as cold as the middle of winter in Europe. “Ey, Boss, ‘e’s awake.” Came a voice from behind and then a kick in the back. “Get up.” For a few seconds I didn’t move and with another kick in the back I realised it was me he was talking to. Slowly I pull myself up. The first thing I see is a pair of dusty leather boots at the end of shotgun chaps. The hilt of a shiny revolver was sticking out of a leather holster. He was wearing a white shirt and a beige fringe jacket. And finally, on his face a mask and on his head a pure white Stetson.

“What happened new guy?” he said as I stood up and looked around, “Ye didn’t last out there.” The men started laughing. “I’m like you.” I said clenching my teeth. “Well then.” Said the boss, he took out his gun and handed it to me, “Pull the trigger.” He was looking in the direction of the laughing captive, “One of us was gonna shoot him anyway, why don’t you do the honours?” he paused and stared at the prisoner then slowly turned his head in my direction. With a sly smile on his face he added, “Or else you will be joining him.”

I had no choice, it was him or me. I know if I hesitate I won’t do it. But this is some ones life I’ll be taking. How can I do that? I can feel my hands are already sweating. No, I have to do it. I have to prove that I am one of them. It’s now or never. I aimed, closed my eyes and fired. The trigger was easy to pull and the bullet left the barrel with a spark followed by smoke. I wasn’t expecting the force of the recoil. The gun gave one large jerk backwards and up as if struggling to escape, but I managed to hold on.

After the bang the prisoner fell to his knees and lay lifeless on the sand. I just stared, yet felt nothing. No guilt or regret, no anything. Everything was an eerie silence. “It’s a tough life out here in the desert. This is where we here outlaws live. Every day we fight to survive.” The boss stared at the prisoner, “Fine we’ll see how long you last.” He slapped me on the back. The gun slipped through my fingers and fell on the floor. The men all started laughing and walked to sit around the fire. The gun was lying in a puddle of blood. I looked over at the dead man, the horror had been frozen on his face.

I picked up the gun and wiped it clean then placed it in my holster which, up until now, had been empty. I smile, I am officially one of them. I am an outlaw.