Vengeance Saga - Part 1

[Jim Raynor]

The night had settled over the desert as Jim sauntered into the pub again, tracking sand over the worn wooden boards. The drive to Nippur and back twice in two days had taken its toll on the old soldier. His heavy feet dragged him to the bar, his coarse fingers sliding over a bar stool. He dropped onto it like a sack full of sand and stuck his elbows on the bar. His forearms stung with the ruddy burns of the unforgiving sun.

Jim lifted his head to order when he noticed the unusually high occupancy rate inside the bar for the second straight night. His eyes moved slowly over the crowd, again a sullen and morose bunch nursing their drinks and barely saying a word. Unlike the previous evening, Jim spotted Swann sitting at a table with Sergeant Lewis Baxter, Jim’s squadron leader and Private Adam Carlton, scratching at his thick black beard.

Finding one of the few empty chairs in the bar, Jim saddled up to the table and joined them. “Hey fellas. Another big day?”

“You said it, cowboy,” Swann said, taking a hearty swig of his beer. “Those damn bandits don’t know when to quit.”

“Bandits?” Jim said. “You’re tellin’ me they attacked the town for the third time in two days?”

“It’s unprecedented,” Lewis said, fingers tapping on the cold glass of cola in his hands. “They’re relentless.”

“Did they say anythin’? They demandin’ anythin’ different?” Jim said. 

Adam shook his head. His normally jovial attitude was absent. “It’s like it was yesterday. They all seem to be teaming up and trying to brute-force their way into the town. It’s almost like they think we’re sitting on a treasure pile or something and they’re willing to divvy up the spoils. What could be making them act like this?”

“Not to mention willing to work together,” Sergeant Baxter added. “Most of the bandit tribes have so much in-fighting, it’s a wonder they manage to pull off any raids at all. We’ve never seen them working together ever.”

“Not somethin’ easily answered,” Swann said. “You seen ‘em? They’re mad. They ain’t stoppin’ to talk. Maybe the desert’s finally scrambled what was left of their brains.”

Jim rubbed at his prickly chin. Could the dark creatures he had fought not so long ago have survived somehow and passed on their corruptive influence to the bandits? Had Nippur’s recent revival had something to do with stirring them up? Or was it something completely different, something they didn’t even know about?

“Well whatever’s goin’ on, I’m stayin’ put,” Jim said. “Seems whenever I’m away they hit the town.”

“Get your sleep,” Private Carlton said, standing up. “If tomorrow’s anything like the last few days, you’re going to need it. We all will.”

“Good point,” Sergeant Baxter said. “Let’s all turn in for the night.”

Swann downed the dregs of his beer and hopped to his feet. “Now there’s somethin’ we can all agree to.”

Jim let his drinking buddies leave the bar first, taking one last glance at the tired and worried faces that filled the room. The townsfolk knew hardship – just day-to-day life in the Town With No Name came with heaping handfuls of it – but never were they so smothered by it. He could see the toll it was taking through every crinkled brow and drooping, downcast gaze. Jim wished there was something he could do to lift all their spirits, but it was up to them to ride out this storm. With any luck, the treaty with Nippur would soon kick in and improve everyone’s lot in the town.

Jim pushed through the swinging doors of the bar and into the chilly night air. He almost fell over when a giant orange figure stepped from his side. He calmed himself. The Hammer. For whatever reason, The Hammer was almost always inside her firebat suit, even when she didn’t need to be. Jim had never seen her outside of it and had no idea of what her real name was. Hell, he hadn’t even heard her voice before. Jim knew most firebats were resocialised criminals so there was a chance the process may have left her with some… issues, so Jim hadn’t probed further into her past.

Still, it was quite the shock when he heard her voice echo inside that big orange suit.

“Commander.” The Hammer’s voice was deep and mirthless, but unmistakably female.

“Hammer?” Jim said, both in recognition of her presence and bewilderment of hearing her speak. “What are you… what can I…” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. We’ve never talked before. I’d be lyin’ if I said you didn’t throw me just now.”

“Commander,” she continued as if Raynor hadn’t spoken at all, “there is something about the raids that I think should be brought to your attention.”

Jim furrowed his brow. If there was something unusual about the bandit attacks, why wasn’t it brought up by the others? “What? What is it?”

“The others dismiss it, but the bandits have been attacking differently,” she said.

“So I’ve heard. Bandit’s ain’t in the habit of formin’ alliances, temporary or no. But they don’t seem to be dismissin’ it.”

The firebat’s hemispherical head twisted, its glowing yellow eyes aimed at something in the distance. “The bandits are more hysterical than usual. They are more reckless, less concerned about their well-being. They seem prone to the point of what I would almost call suicide.”

“Yeah?” Swann and his squad hadn’t mentioned suicidal bandits. “What’s standin’ out?”

“Some of the bandits are running directly into the line of fire,” The Hammer said. “There’s no attempt at self preservation. And they’re shouting, screaming. I know they’re not all right in the head, but they’re all shouting the same thing.”

“And what’s that?” Jim said.

“Let me in.”

Jim shifted his weight on his feet. “Let me in?”

“And the terror in their eyes…” The Hammer said. “It’s almost as if they’re running from something.”

Jim cleared his throat and digested the unsettling report. “So you think their attacks ain’t really attacks. You think they’re tryin’ to get into the town because they think they’ll be safe here. And maybe they think allyin’ all their tribes together gives ‘em the best shot at gettin’ in.”

“That’s what I think,” The Hammer said.

“Do you have any proof?” Jim asked.

Hammer’s head swiveled back to Jim. “No, commander. Only my gut instinct.”

“I ain’t one to discount a soldier’s intuition, but I’ll need to see this first hand,” Jim said. “You understand.”

The firebat stared at Raynor for a moment longer and plodded off without another word.

Jim sighed and went his own way. The stars in the clear velvet sky twinkled. The utter silence of the desert night seemed a world away from a bandit assault. Whatever was going on, Jim would find out what it was. After a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, he and the squadron would suit up and start questioning the agitated outlaws the most effective way he knew how; down the barrel of a gun.

Finding the small room set aside for him off the side of Swann’s garage, Jim thrust off his heavy boots and collapsed onto his stained, lumpy bed. His mind attempted to piece the puzzle together but he soon slipped into unconsciousness.

<James Raynor!>

Jim shot up with a start. His bewildered eyes fell upon Karax standing over his bed, a torch in his four fingered hand. The din of shouting, revving engines and piercing bangs boomed from outside. “Karax! What are you doin’ in here? What’s goin’ on?!”

<I’m afraid it’s bad news, James Raynor,> Karax said. <The bandits have returned for another attack and we need you to assist in the defense of the town.>

Jim frowned, eyes wide. “The bastards are back again?!”

The protoss phase-smith took a step back from the terran commander. <Yes. And you best hurry. I hear this may be the biggest incursion yet.>

[Jim Raynor]

Jim burst outside and into the cold dusk. He hopped into the dusty town, struggling to fit his foot into his second boot. The dune lined horizon to the east glimmered with a golden yellow, the first hopeful signs of morning. The cold bite of the desert night still lingered as Jim sprinted through the town, goosebumps rising on his exposed forearms, wind tussling his unkempt hair. A few of the white haired men of the town stumbled out of the bar and hobbled back to their houses, but the town was otherwise empty. Jim heard the clicking of locks and the pained heaving of furniture scraping along the ground, coming to a thudding stop at the doors to act as barricades. 

Great black columns of smoke spilled into the air in the far distance. The heavy revving of engines carried on the wind, muffled but growing louder with every passing second.

Lewis Baxter and his squad stood on the town’s outskirts, staring out at the horizon. A number of wooden barriers with spiked exteriors had been erected just outside the town to ostensibly act as cover for when the bandits made it there. “They’re coming back again. They’re not going to stop until one of us can’t fight any longer.”

Roy Salvatore trudged back from the open dunes and met with the group. He dusted his hands together roughly and waves of sand spiraled off his palms. “There. That’s the last of the landmines dug and set. And there’s only a few. We’re not going to take out all of their vehicles this time.”

“It don’t matter none what we got left,” Jim said. “This is our town, and we ain’t lettin’ those bandits take it. This place might be a hot and arid shithole, but it’s our hot and arid shithole!” Jim faced his ragtag squadron. “Now we might be achin’ for supplies, but all of you held this town when I was gone. There ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ you from doin’ it again. And this time, I’m here. We work together, and if we want it bad enough, those bandits get to run home with their tails between their legs. At least the ones we don’t riddle with bullets. You all with me?”

Lewis, Sandra, Roy and Adam all nodded, their faces grim and determined. The Hammer bent slightly at the waist in acknowledgement, her face hidden within the firebat suit.

“Damn straight,” Jim said with a wry grin. “Now gear up and let’s finish these sons of bitches.”

His squadron save The Hammer ran back to the garage to prepare themselves for the next onslaught. Jim squinted at the distant line of dunes and saw the vehicles clear the horizon and draw into view. More and more followed behind, and the gravity of the situation landed on Raynor. 

Fishing a set of binoculars from his pocket, he scanned the encroaching assailants. Dirty and tattooed thugs with fluro coloured mohawks and bald heads hooted and hollered from sputtering jeeps and motorbikes, swinging wrenches, chains and steel bars over their heads. Some shook rifles in the air vigorously, popping off rounds into the sky in excitement for the battle to come.

Not only were they attacking relentlessly, but their numbers were unheard of. The bandits simply didn’t unite like this, especially to invade the Town With No Name. Hammer was onto something for sure.

Jim lowered his binoculars and swallowed. His heart drummed against his chest. Sweat clung to his brow despite the cool dawn. He looked to the glowing horizon. By the time the sun rose, the town would either be saved… or overrun.

Several townsfolk scrambled to the town limits wielding sand whipped shotguns and pistols. Dark bags underscored their eyes but the fire in them was anything but tired.

“We’re here to help too,” one of the white bearded men said, his calloused fingers curled around his shotgun. “These varmints aren’t havin’ our town without a fight!”

“We’ve spent too long cowerin’ in our houses,” a lean muscled woman said. “This is the last time they mess with us!”

“Now I appreciate the sentiment, but you people should get somewhere safe,” Jim said. “Let me and mine handle this.”

“We know how dire the situation is, deputy sheriff,” another said. “We all gotta pitch in to save our town.”

Raynor went to respond but the steely look in the eyes of those brave townspeople changed his mind. “All right. I know I wouldn’t want to be holed up in a gunfight, no matter how dangerous. Just make sure you stay safe. Keep a watchful eye on each other. Me and my soldiers won’t be able to watch y’all.”

“Hey, cowboy.”

Jim turned. Swann stood behind him cradling his sniper rifle. His CMC-400 suit trudged behind, the helmet open and cockpit empty.

“Adjutant’s already in the armour and ready to fight. Thought you might like to snipe a few of those bastards before you get your hands dirty.” Swann threw the gun into Jim’s hands. “Sounds like this might be the big one.”

“We got this Swann,” Raynor said, peering down the sights of his weapon. “It’ll all be over before you know it.”

“You ain’t been here before, Jimbo,” Swann said, his eyebrows knitted together. “These ain’t normal raids. Sooner or later we’re gonna crack.”

“No one got much confidence left,” Jim said, slinging the sniper rifle onto his back. “We went to Char and stole the Queen of Blades and we didn’t die. Once you’ve had twenty billion zerg rush head-on at you, there ain’t much that can scare ya.”

“You can see the numbers out there,” Rory said, meeting eyes with Jim. His fingers fiddled with the metal claw that substituted for his left hand. “They ain’t zerg, but there sure are a hell of a lot of ‘em.”

“So what’s the plan, Swann?” Jim asked. “You always got somethin’ up your sleeve.”

Swann managed a smirk. “You can read me like a book, hot shot. Look, I’m workin’ on a little somethin’ but it ain’t ready yet. If you can hold ‘em off long enough for me to finish what I’m doin’, we oughta win this. But if ya don’t, well… we only got so many bullets, and they got a lot of bodies to shoot down.”

Jim clasped Rory on the shoulder and smiled warmly. “You need time? I’ll give it to ya. Just signal when you’re done and we’ll bring an end to this. I promise.”

Swann’s smile changed from forced to genuine, his eyes softening and the corners of his lips turning up further. “Never a hopeless situation for the great Jimmy Raynor, is there?”

“Stared death too many times in the face to believe anythin’s hopeless,” Jim said, slapping Swann’s arm. “Now get to work!”

Swann nodded, still smiling, and hurried back to the garage. Sergeant Baxter and the team ran past the terran engineer and back to Jim, fully equipped for the fight. 

“You guys got this,” Jim said, aiming his clenched hand at the rooftop above him. “If they get too close, draw fire away from the town. Keep the people safe.”

A silver bolt fired from the top of Jim’s wrist, a black tether writhing behind it. The bolt expanded into a three pronged hook at the top of the roof and hooked the edge. Jim yanked on it to ensure its stability and zoomed up, the rope automatically retracting and pulling him to the rooftop. 

Jim set up his sniper rifle and lay flat on the rooftop, staring down the scope. Crosshairs fell upon the charging bandits. Jim spotted a buggy ripping through the sands with its cargo of raiders. He aimed at the front tire. He held his breath, steadied himself and squeezed the trigger. 

The twenty five millimetre round screamed through the air and shredded the tire, exposing the rusted rim. The buggy swerved from side to side and turned hard to the left, rolling the vehicle and hurling the passengers out. Other vehicles veered out of its way, though a couple of bikes misjudged the chassis’s bounce and found themselves crunched beneath its heft.

Jim ejected the used bullet casing with a loud click and lined up his next target. The head of a biker exploded in a mist of blood and skull fragments. He reloaded and aimed again as a roofless jeep barreled over one of the last land mines and jumped skyward in a plume of flames, the blackened chassis crashing back into the sand. 

Jim assassinated another driver, drawing the vehicle to a skidding halt, but there were simply too many and he was short on bullets. He looked up from his sniper rifle’s scope and absorbed the enormity of the force racing for the town as another land mine triggered and obliterated the motorbike unfortunate enough to activate it. The majority of the horizon was covered in smoke and bandits galloping towards them.

“How… how are we gonna stop this?” Jim whispered to himself. 

Snapping out of his despair, Raynor ducked back down and emptied the remainder of his sniper rifle’s ammunition into the horde. Despite the number of bandits dead by his hand, he had only made a small dent in them. The fight at the edge of town was unavoidable.

Jim left his sniper rifle, hopped off the roof and landed hard on the ground, the impact shuddering through his boots and knees. He rolled over his shoulder with the inertia and onto his feet. Snatching the AGR-14 rifle leaning against the wall for him, Jim crouched and scuttled over to the closest row of wooden barricades to the town and peered over them. 

Rumbling cars and bikes slid in the soft sands only fifty or so metres away from Jim. Those with chains, knives and bludgeoning instruments ran without reservation towards the town. Those with guns skirted behind their vehicles and used them for cover, peeking out to find their targets.

Ducking around the side of his wooden shield, Jim squeezed off a handful of rounds, his gun jerking in his hands as bullets tore bloody holes in the foolish bandits. Baxter and The Hammer joined him, falling behind their own wooden cover nearby. 

“What are they doin’?” Jim said as a swarm of bullets whizzed overhead, some smashing into the barricades and spitting splinters into the air. “They’re just runnin’ at us when we got guns?”

“I told you, they’re crazy,” Baxter said, releasing a salvo of gunfire at the new wave of bandits sprinting suicidally over the sands. 

“No, listen,” Hammer said, releasing a stream of flames from her hands and cooking the raiders alive. 

Over the agonised shrieking of the immolated thieves, Jim heard the others popping out from the hoods of their cars to shoot, the bullets scaring up the sand in tight jets. 

“Let us in!”

Jim frowned. “Baxter!”

Lewis added a few more bullet holes to a car chassis. Several found the windows and engulfed the air in the sound of shattering glass. “Yes commander!”

“Why are they shouting ‘let us in’?”

“Who knows why bandits do anything?” Baxter shouted back.

Jim popped up and peppered the advancing line with bullets. Another half dozen marauders tumbled to a bloodied pile. “This ain’t makin’ sense! They have gotta be doin’ this for a reason!”

“That may be so commander,” Baxter said, “but they don’t seem to be in the mood to talk it over!”

That was true enough. The front lines of the bandits were getting filled out by more reinforcements arriving in the back and their attacks were only getting more ferocious. Chunks of Jim’s wooden barricade tore loose and fell to pieces around him. Clicking in his last clip, Jim ran back into the town and unloaded his rifle. He dived behind the corner of the bar as bullets dashed into the ground.

Lewis hauled it back to cover in the town as well. Hammer raised an armoured hand as bullets sprayed her and she traipsed back as fast as her cumbersome firebat suit would allow.

Jim tugged a grenade free from the holster over his chest, flicked the pin and tossed it. A mighty bang sounded on the other side of the wall. “We can’t hold the town. We’re gonna lose it if we don’t think of somethin’ fast.”

Raynor finally understood why everyone impressed on him the voracity and rage with which the bandits attempted to take the town. Seeing it for himself, he simply couldn’t believe it. What was the Town With No Name worth to these deviants? Why was it worth sacrificing so many lives to claim?

Jim hurled another grenade out. The footsteps were close. Their terrible cries for help were drowned out by the fiery roar of the explosive, but the stampede of boots on sand continued. 

“Let us in!” they yelled feverishly. “Let us in!”

“They’re going to breach the town!” Baxter said, his rifle spattering another handful of bandits with bullets until it clicked. “And that was my last magazine!”

The white bearded man ran out with his shotgun, yelling as he blasted an advancing bandit’s chest apart. He pumped the weapon and put down another pipe wielding marauder in a shower of red giblets. 

“You ain’t takin’ my town!” he wailed, firing another salvo into the next raider. “Get out before I kill ya all!”

The old man jerked backwards and crashed to the ground, his firearm falling from wrinkled hands. Red blood soaked through his clothes, his veined eyes staring up at the sky at nothing.

“Dammit Swann!” Jim yelled in frustration. Chips of the wall exploded right near his face. “Where’s that ace in the hole you were promisin’ me?”

“It’s ready Jim!” Swann called back. “Just get to it before ya get shot!”

Raynor turned his head. A giant mechanised walker stood proudly in the centre of town on two tall metal legs. A glass cockpit in its centre supported a mini-gun on either side. Two pods of missiles sat on its top.

“No way,” Jim said, dumbfounded. “You built me a Goliath?!”

“No time for thanks yet!” Rory said, dashing back to the garage. “Get in the damn thing!”

“Commander!” Hammer yelled. “Go! I’ll cover you!”

Jim dropped his rifle and bolted for the combat walker amidst a shower of bullets. The firebat lunged forward between him and the bandits, the armour catching the bullets meant for him, and swept fire over them from the flamethrower nozzles in her hands. 

A sharp sting blossomed in Raynor’s left shoulder and he stumbled. He gritted his teeth and kept running, his eyes locking on the opened hatch on the underside of the cockpit. Leaping, he gripped the edges of the hatch and started to haul himself in. His left arm spasmed and his fingers slipped, leaving him dangling. Groaning from the pain, Jim reached back up with his blood soaked arm and forced himself up through the hatch, closing it behind him. 

Sitting in the cockpit, Jim grabbed the controls and aimed the mini-guns at the bandits that streamed into the town. He scowled, deciding there was no need for a warning.

The mini-guns whirled and fired bullets out at a fantastic speed. The raiders charging in had no chance – they dropped to the ground instantly as waves of hot lead sank into their bodies. Finally, after seeing the Goliath stomp out between the buildings, crushing corpses beneath its metal feet, the frenzied advance halted. 

Jim felt the surge of adrenaline rush through his body as he towered over the invaders, his mini-guns decimating their offensive. He pressed down on a red button and a half dozen of Hellfire missiles burst from their pods atop the Goliath, wreathing the dunes in fiery explosions, ripping apart the vehicles the bandits used for cover and slinging dismembered bodies over the sands. 

“This is your last chance,” Jim said, his voice booming out through a speaker on the combat walker. “Turn around and go home or this is gonna get worse for you.”

Bullets pelted the Goliath. Cracks raced across the cockpit. Jim grimaced.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

The next few minutes were a blur. Fire, blood and screaming filled his mind. 

After what seemed like an age, the bandits finally retreated. Jim snapped out of his mental haze and watched the last of the raiders fleeing for their lives, most on foot. He urged the Goliath backwards but the legs groaned and the knee joint locked in place. Sparks jumped from the control panel before him. The left mini-gun let out an almighty creak and broke off, shaking the ground as it shattered like an egg on impact. 

The glass screen slipped halfway out of its mold. Jim kicked it out and jumped out the hole it left. He stumbled back to town, clutching his stiff shoulder. It burned and his fingers tingled. 

“Jim!” Swann shouted, hurrying over. Black soot lined the terran engineer’s face. “Are you OK? You put up a hell of a fight out there!”

Jim forced a smile. “Nothin’ a shot of bourbon and a good rest won’t fix.” He grimaced as the pain in his shoulder flared. 

“C’mon cowboy, let’s get you some help.”

“We ain’t done yet Swann,” Jim said. “We gotta take a headcount, clear out these bodies…”

“Let your people do that,” Swann said. “You need to take it easy.”

Raynor waved his good friend away. “If they ain’t restin’ yet, neither am I.”

“Stubborn as ever,” Swann said. He looked to the sparking combat walker as it teetered over and smashed into the ground. A shroud of dust expanded around it. “Guess my prototype Goliath didn’t make it through the fight.”

“It made all the difference, Swann,” Jim said. “Now see if you can’t help some folk. I’m gonna do the same.”

The terran commander strode outside the town. The morning sun crept over the horizon, bathing the horrific aftermath of the fight in light, catching in pools of blood. Broken bodies lied everywhere. Charred chasses smoked, blackened by flame and perforated with bullet holes. The smell of blood, burning rubber and ash made his nostrils sting and eyes water.

“Why…” Jim said, eyes downcast, feeling a weakness in his legs. “Why did they do this? What’s makin’ ‘em so desperate?”

A heavy cough startled Jim. A body’s chest heaved as blood ejected out of his mouth. He breathed in wheezing rasps. His leather pants and jacket were stained red.

Raynor knelt down by the injured bandit. “You all right, son?”

“Go… to hell… old man.” He hocked another mouthful of blood and spat it on the sand. 

Jim seized his revolver from his waist and jammed the barrel into the bandit’s temple. “You still gotta chance at life here, boy. Don’t go throwin’ it away because of your smart mouth.”

“Didn’t you hear us?” he said, eyes strained, blood streaking his teeth. “Didn’t you hear us crying out to you?”

Jim frowned. “Yeah, as a matter of fact.”

The desperation in the bandit’s eyes fled as he settled back down. “It doesn’t matter. None of us are getting out of this alive. At least this way… we don’t have to go through it.”

Jim took a deep breath. “There’s somethin’ here not addin’ up for me. You come with me, you answer a few questions, and I’ll see about gettin’ your wounds treated and sendin’ you back to where you came from. You think you can do that?”

“I’d rather die on the sand with all my brothers.”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “Sorry. Not an option.”

Jim cracked the handle of his revolver across the bandit’s head and knocked him out cold.

[Jim Raynor]

Jim ran his coarse fingers over heavy eyes and pinched them under his chin. His arid tongue licked at his chapped and broken lips. He gave a cursory glance to the utility vehicle driving away from the town, its tray piled high with bandit corpses, and brought his attention back to Ronald. 

“And our small little town gets a little more smaller,” the sheriff said, standing before a row of freshly dug graves, wooden crosses with names carved into the planks marking each body. He held his wide-brimmed hat in his hands, crossed over his belt. “Another six souls leave us to journey into the great unknown. Another six lives cut short, claimed by… the reality of life in the Dunes.”

Jim heard a sniffle or two in the folding chairs behind him. Someone else honked the contents of their nose into a handkerchief. Swann and Karax sat beside him; the rest of his squadron was taking care of the body disposals and immediate clean-up.

“We all know livin’ out here is risky,” Ronald continued, his voice strong. “But we do it because we love it. This is our home, and ain’t no one gonna take that away from us. And just like those we lay to rest today, we ain’t movin’. We won’t be chased from what is rightfully ours. Let us remember the sacrifices and determination of these common but brave folk and never give in. Let us fight for what is ours until the breath has gone from our bodies, as they did. May we learn the lesson that some things, no matter the cost, are just worth fightin’ for.”

And just like that, the service was over. The townspeople took their folding chairs with them and got back to living. Jim nodded a goodbye to Swann and Karax as they returned to the garage, but he stayed and watched over the graves a little longer.

Ronald donned his hat and moved next to Raynor. “Don’t get any easier. You’d think after a time it would, but… it doesn’t.”

“I’ve seen more boys die out on the battlefield than I’d care to count,” Jim said. “They say time heals all wounds. Well, they’re wrong. Some things even time can’t fix.”

“And yet not one of those stubborn sons-of-bitches will want to leave come the morning,” Deschain said, running a thumb over the chipped and scratched star buckle that held his belt together. “When some people find their home, that’s it. They’d rather die than move on.”

Jim reached into his vest and retrieved two cigars. He pointed one at Ronald. The sheriff grasped the end in his teeth as Jim popped the other in his mouth. With a lighter, Jim ignited the tip of Ronald’s cigar before his own. They stood in silence for a while, puffing smoke and letting the quiet say what needed to be said.

Raynor took a long drag of his cigar and jetted the smoke out of his nostrils. “The day ain’t over yet.”

Ronald nodded. “Holler if you need a hand.”

“Will do, sheriff.”

Jim drifted through the town, cigar clenched in his teeth, as the sinking sun shed vibrant orange on the horizon. He stared at the pastel colours painted over the darkening sky, trying to find a shred of solace in one of the few natural wonders of the desert that wasn’t out to kill him. He breathed deeply one last time of his cigar and flicked it into the sands, staring at the threshold to the prison.

His thumb rested on the handle of his revolver hanging from his waist. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to use it.

Jim carried a lit lantern with him down the steps of the prison, the flame swaying back and forth. The light from the sun barely reached the cells; a few crepuscular beams glimmered at the top of the doorway but they were thin and insubstantial. During the day, it was bright enough to see the blood stains on the stone floor. 

The cell at the end of the room had a small candle burning in its corner, the light hugging a body hanging by their arms from the ceiling. Chains jingled at the sounds of Raynor’s boots on hard stone. The head, chin planted in their chest, rolled towards Jim.

Grabbing a chipped and weathered chair from the wall, Raynor dragged it across the floor and placed the lantern down. The light washed over the bandit as he squinted and turned his face away from the flame. Dark crimson soaked his jacket and pants, with lighter splotches of red caked onto his chest and arms. His bloodshot eyes gingerly opened.

“You’ve spent most of the afternoon strung up by your wrists,” Jim said, lowering into the chair and crossing his arms. “Bet it’s given you a long time to think about your actions.”

The bandit scowled but said nothing.

“Hopefully it’s given you enough time to consider my offer properly.” Jim leaned forward, hands resting on his knees. “What’s your answer?”

A wad of spittle flew through the bars and just wide of Raynor’s face. A wet splat echoed from behind him.

Jim clenched his teeth. A whirlwind of emotions ran through his mind, but for the sake of those who rested beneath the sands and for those above them, he had to tame them. This intransigent marauder might be the key to resolving the endless attacks on the town, if only he could stay his weapon.

“You should have just left me to die,” the bandit said, his voice dry and weak. 

“I almost did,” Jim said through his teeth. “We lost some good people today, and for what? So you bandits can try and take what ain’t yours? Well I’m sick of it! It’s about time you criminals learned to stick to your own lands and leave us the hell alone!”

“They wouldn’t have died if they weren’t so pathetic,” the bandit said, a new fire in his tone. “Like you said, all we are is criminals! How did they let themselves get killed? They probably just wanted to die!”

A second flew past and in the next, Jim came to his senses on his feet with the revolver aimed at the bandit’s head. His fingers trembled around his weapon. A part of him wanted to do it so badly, to add another darkened smear to the cell wall, but the rational part of his mind took a grip of his emotions. Killing him would only feel good for a second, no matter how justified.

“Go on! Do it!” the bandit yelled.

Raynor took a deep breath and lowered his revolver. He stuffed it back in its holster. “Why were you all yellin’ ‘let me in?’”

“You ask me that now?” the bandit said, scowling. “You could have led with that.”

Jim hardened his tone. “Why were you and your buddies yellin’ ‘let me in?’”

“Why else would we be?”

“Because you want our town,” Jim said. “But you’ve always wanted that. Why are you all so suddenly champin’ at the bit to have it now?”

“Don’t you see?” the bandit said. “We’re running! We’re terrified for our lives!”

Jim frowned. “What are you runnin’ from?”

“Did you notice that in all the times we hit your town, of all the gangs that banded together to attack you, that there was one gang that was not with us? Never appeared?”

Raynor had only been present for the most recent assault but he ran over the gang colours and accessories that he remembered seeing during the fight and on the corpses. One name sprung to mind.

“The Sand Vipers,” Jim said. “But why are you runnin’ from them? They wouldn’t be strong enough to rally all of the bandits together against them. And why attack us anyway? Shouldn’t you turn around and fight them?”

“No, we’re not running from them,” the bandit said. “It’s-”

A gunshot rang out from the doorway. Jim’s arm cracked down and whipped his revolver up. His narrow eyes relaxed. “Roy? What are you… doin’?”

Salvatore bared his teeth, staring daggers at the bandit in the cell. He leveled a pistol at the cell. “I saw him. He killed Jasper. Him and all his filthy kind… they don’t deserve to live.”

It was then that Raynor noticed the smoke leaving the barrel of Roy’s pistol.

“Roy… no…”

Jim spun. The bandit’s head sagged into his chest. His eyes gazed emptily at the ground. Blood flowed down his exposed chest from a deep red circle just below his neck. 

 “He… deserved it,” Roy said through clenched teeth, his eyes red and watery.

Jim stared at the bandit drooping in his shackles. A great weight pulled downwards in his chest. The bandit knew why the raids were relentless and aggressive and Salvatore had destroyed any chance of discovering what that reason was. 

“Get out,” Jim said in a low tone, his eyes hard.

“Were you actually going to let him live?” Roy said. “You were actually going to listen to what he had to say? He would have said anything to get out alive! The only right thing to do was-”

“I said get out!” Jim roared. 

Salvatore stared at him for a moment, eyebrow furrowed, then stormed out.

Jim slumped back into his chair and watched the bandit dangle limply from the ceiling. He felt so exhausted, so drained, like his whole body was filled with lead. His mind whirled about in a futile attempt to eke out a plan but it was getting him nowhere.

Walking out of the prison and into the first winds of the evening, Jim headed back to his room. Perhaps in the morning, after sleeping off the last horrible day, things would be clearer.