End of the Road

The silence in the barn was a loud contrast to the chaos that had unfolded outside not five minutes ago. The moonlight seeped through the cracks and illuminated the old rusted tools hanging, forgotten on the rotten support pillars that were barely managing to keep this old barn from collapsing in on itself.

A pained scream followed by a pathetic whimper belted out from one of the stalls as Hammond tightened a filthy strip of cloth around the hole in his leg, a deep crimson instantly soaking through the cloth.

“Damn it…”

He winced and tried to look through one of the hundreds of bullet holes in the side of the barn blood loss making his vision blurred and unfocused on the torches carried by Sheriff Grady and the posse of angry townsfolk. They had finally caught up to him and his boys this morning and it went about as well as he expected.

“Come on out now Hammond! All your boys are dead! And your horses took off once the shooting started, let's stop all this foolishness!”

Hammond cursed and tried to stand, he could feel the life draining from the wound on his leg, the white-hot pain that followed his first futile step sent him tumbling back to the dirt floor of the barn. Staring up at the roof as it spun, his eyes focused on something lurking in the darkness of the rafters. Inky darkness staring down at him. What was it doing here? Why wasn’t it scared off from the uproar of the shootout?

Looking at the silhouette filled him with despair and a cold sense of dread began to wash over him that; in his lifetime of robbing, killing, and cheating folks out of their hard-earned money, he had never felt before.

Like that girl on the passenger train from Bixby, he didn’t have to kill her the way he did. Or that preacher feller who tried to serve him and his boys some sort of salvation before they burned his church down with him still inside. With each recollection of his violent past, he grew colder and weaker. Remembering the day he and his boys raided Dooley's ranch and rustled his cattle, made his legs grow cold. The standoff with the Coburn brothers at the Starlight mine; his arms became cold and heavy, like the blocks of ice he and his gang used in their drinks that night to celebrate their victory.

“You here for me?”

Hammond mumbled to the creature staring down at him, revealing its huge glowing eyes paralyzed him almost instantly, wringing every drop of fear it could mange out of him as it bobbed and moved across the beams above.

“Yes”

He gasped, whether it was out of surprise or fear Hammond did not expect a response, nor did he expect the creature to fly down from the rafters and land on his chest, it was heavier than he thought it would be, digging its sharp talons through the remains of his tattered and bloodstained shirt. He grunted in pain and shook as the creature leaned down close to his face. He could hear its ethereal voice echoing and bouncing around in his skull, the stench of smoke and ash made him cough as it bobbed and weaved its head, wrestling his memories out of the grey matter, laying out in front of him to writhe and stew in it.

“Now, where were we?”

“I don't want–”

“The wagon train…”

“No…”

“…all those people…those children.”

Hammond gritted his remaining teeth as the creature dug its talons deeper into his skin, he could feel its strength with each squeeze, he knew it was unnatural and that realization wrought even more fear in the outlaw Hammond. The pain froze him to the bone as he struggled and tried to fight the creature off of him, however its grip was too sure, and there was no escaping it now. Hammond's eyes met the creatures once more as it extended its nearly four-foot wingspan, he wanted to scream. To turn himself in and face the hangman's noose, only now it was too late. All he could see were the eyes, the horns, and the black wings…just like they warned him all those years ago. A single tear rolled down his left cheek as he felt a strong wind suddenly sweep through the barn

“Why didn’t I listen…”

Sheriff Grady lit a cigar he had clenched between his teeth and stared down at the pale lifeless body of one Joseph “Hellfire” Hammond, Worth about two hundred alive, although not as much with the extra two holes in him.

“ He looks scared don’t he? Like he met the grim reaper his-self ”

One of Grady's deputies leaned into the stall and looked down at the corpse of the outlaw they had tracked for the better half of the last three weeks.

“Just about. Jimmy, get someone to help you load this scum on the wagon with the rest of those fools before this owl decides he’d make a good morning meal”

The sheriff looked up at the large great horned owl that was hiding up in the rafters, feeling a cold chill run down his spine he took another drag from the cigar and walked out of the barn. Barking orders and trying to organize the long journey back down the mountain.