Red Star Sheriff Read online

  “Aidele! What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “My father! My father! He, he… No!” She screamed again, tears flowing. “He’s dead! Out there, on Mesmerize! I found him… found him…”

  Grandfather’s mouth dropped. She let another scream loose. He raced past her and out onto the porch. Aidele forced herself to follow. Grandfather’s hands went to his temples, the flats of his palms gripping his head like he was about to smash it.

  “What… who… why? Who would do this? And you’re sure…?” Grandfather rushed forward to search for a pulse.

  Her father’s face told him the truth. He took a step back, turned to Aidele dropping his hands, and came to her sobbing and took her into his arms.

  “By the Spirits! Oh… Oh, Aidele!” The moments passed and then Grandfather drew back. “Ok. We… we need to take care of him. Help me take him to the workshop.”

  Aidele nodded and they guided Mesmerize around the house to the workshop. They carefully took him down and carried him inside. There, they laid his body on the worktable in the center of the room. She raced inside the house to grab a blanket from a hallway closet. She couldn’t remember if she had thought to do that or if Grandfather had asked. Whichever the case, the end result was her standing in the hall, cradling the blanket to her chest. She knelt to her knees and fell back against a wall.

  After a time, Grandfather’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. She looked up to him through blurry eyes.

  “Can you sit with your father while I head into town to fetch the sheriff?”

  There was a certainty that she nodded, but she didn’t feel like herself. It was as if she were trapped in some horrible nightmare.

  “Alright,” Grandfather said, “come help me cover him. When I return, we’ll prepare your father for the pyre. Where was it you found him?”

  A slight hesitation that felt for the world like it dragged on forever. Then, “Along… the Chesik Trail. At the, the edge of the south bend dunes… off the rise.”

  Grandfather nodded and helped her to her feet. They went back out to the workshop and covered her father up. Aidele sat down in a chair near the table while Grandfather headed out. Time ceased, became meaningless. All that existed was the corpse of her father on the table. Grandfather could have been gone minutes or a hundred years. By the time he’d returned, she was still sitting there in a daze. The sheriff tried to ask her questions, and maybe she mumbled an answer. Whatever she said, he offered only a sad nod of the head and a, ‘Sorry fer yer loss.’ Then wandered off when the deputy arrived. Nearby, the undertaker had arrived as well.

  “Well, whatcha discover?” the sheriff asked trying to keep his voice low and failing.

  “It was a real mess, sheriff. I don’ know what happened, but it looks like ol’ Coop drove right off a dune and done tore hisself up.”

  “Don’ explain the bullets, kid.”

  “Well… I did hear some o’the boys talkin’, an’ they thinks it might’ve been bandits. Wouldn’t know why, though. Don’ look like anything was took. Professor’s belongin’s were ev’rwhere’n his credits still in his wallet. Delson says he’n Martin found tracks leadin’ up towards Mercos Trail. They say they made ten ta twelve horses.”

  The sheriff scowled. “Shit. Damn shame what this world’s comin’ to. Drum up some scouts to go check it out.”

  “Ya thinkin’ it was bandits, then?”

  The sheriff glanced towards Aidele. “I tell you what, let’s take this conversation elsewhere.”

  The two men walked away. Aidele didn’t care. They were just words and couldn’t fill in the void building in her soul. The evening wore on and the next thing she knew, she was standing at her father’s funeral pyre. The flames licked the clear, black sky. Billowing smoke, thick and choking, rose high into the night air. The smell of charred flesh was heavy. She was vaguely aware of the twinkling stars high above. Her father always did love to see those brilliant specks of light flickering in the dark night.

  Aidele remained standing there, a blanket wrapped around her that she’d picked up from somewhere, or someone had given her. She couldn’t remember. There she stayed until the fire had died down and all that was left was cinder, ash, and bits of bone. One by one those gathered to pay their respects had left. Until it was only her and Grandfather. And he had rubbed her back and left sometime earlier.

  Now it was just her. She turned from the smoking ruin and headed back to the house trying desperately to put out of mind the troubling thought this was where her mother’s long walk had begun too.

  AIDELE SPENT THE next week in a near comatose state. Despite Grandfather’s urgings to join him going to town, she repeatedly refused, electing to remain staring out her window or at a wall. She barely ate and could barely think.

  After a week, she agreed to go with Grandfather to town, and started filling her time caring for the animals and doting on Mesmerize. Grandfather had started taking her to town on their old wagon rather than the buggy. Apparently, he felt that the open air and the gentle rocking of wheels on tattered soil was good for her spirit.

  A week and a half later, Aidele was sitting in the wagon outside the general store waiting to help Grandfather load some supplies. The day was sweltering and she’d been fanning herself with a hand paddle. By chance, two people walked by having a loud conversation. Usually, Aidele would just ignore whatever gossip was being slung that day, but this particular conversation caught her attention immediately.

  “—rizing the whole of the Sutures for the last half a year!” the man, tall and wearing a fancy coat and top hat, was saying to the woman with him. She was fanning herself with a frilly folding fan. “Hickshaw swore that gang had never been around before, but all of a sudden here they are running roughshod all across the place. Why, I even heard tale a professor—a professor, mind you—was murdered out by the Spine just a few weeks ago!”

  “That’s terrible! Why would they do such a thing?” the woman replied, her hand going to her chest daintily.

  Aidele knitted her brows and felt a heat swell in her heart. She leapt off the wagon.

  “Oh, who knows with these heathens,” the man continued. “If we had any competent lawmen out here, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. And, certainly, those outlaws would be a thing of the past.”

  “Indeed!” the woman replied batting at her bell-shaped dress as she struggled not to trip over an upraised wooden panel of deck.

  Aidele rushed up to them. “Hey. Hey! Who was it? Who killed that professor?”

  They both stopped and turned towards her. The man cocked his head. “Pardon me? What was that?”

  “I heard you saying a gang of outlaws killed a professor. Who was that gang?” Aidele came to a stop, her body tense.

  The man lifted a hand to his chest, fingers clawed out towards himself looking like he’d just smelt the ripest of farts. “Young lady, it is extremely rude of you to go eavesdropping on private conversations.”

  Aidele scowled. “I wasn’t eavesdropping! You two are talking so loud it’s amazing the whole town doesn’t know your business!”

  “Why, I never!” he remarked.

  “The name! That professor killed was my father! And I want to know the monsters who did him in!”

  The man’s jaw dropped as he turned a pale white and took a step back. “Oh my! No, no. I’m sorry, my dear, but never you mind those thugs. Let the law deal with them. My apologies for your loss, but these are brutes who a little lady such as yourself shouldn’t even speak to, let alone engage in… fisticuffs!”

  Aidele growled. “I don’t need your sympathies and I’m not looking to have a conversation with them. I’m looking to kill them!”

  The man gasped, his mouth as wide as the grimace on a freshly caught bass. The woman with him gave a wry grin and looked to Aidele. “Kern Michaels. It’s the Kern Michaels gang.”

  “Dalilah!” the man stared down at her. “Dalilah, how could you?”

  Aidele lowered her eyes. �
��Thank you.”

  The man grabbed the woman by the arm and escorted her away all the while admonishing her. “What did you do? We’re not trying to have the deaths of sweet little things on our consciences!”

  “You just said the law was useless,” she looked up at him smile waning. “Maybe she’ll do something about it.”

  Aidele ignored them and turned back towards the wagon. She walked slowly looking down to the ground mulling over the information she’d just been granted. I have a name now… Kern Michaels. The Kern Michaels gang… She was so deep into her own thoughts she didn’t notice the man right in front of her before plowing headlong into his chest.

  “Whooa there, little lady,” he laughed affably and took her by the shoulders. “Ya gotta look where yer goin’.”

  She looked up at him, her straw hat having fallen across her back and now hanging by its strings.

  “Kern… Michaels…” she muttered.

  “Kern Michaels?” The man’s smile faded. “Did he do something to you? Are ya needin’ help?”

  “No… yes…” she shook her head. “I need… to find him.”

  The man frowned. “Don’ know nobody who wants ta find that miserable es oh bee… Excuse mah language, ma’am. Last ah heard he was out near Treyton. But take mah advice, miss, ya stay as far away from that cur as possible. He’s all sorts o’murderin’ bad news.”

  The man tipped his hat to her and continued on his way. Aidele looked towards the wagon and mumbled to herself. “No fucking shit…”

  A thought struck her and she hurried towards the jailhouse just across the street. She rushed inside and saw the sheriff sitting there reading a book. He looked up as she plopped her hands on his desk and spewed out a long, unbroken string of words.

  “Kern Michaels killed my father and he’s holed up in Treyton so we can get a posse together and go after the bastard!”

  She was practically panting in her eagerness.

  The bespectacled sheriff was nonplussed. He bookmarked where he was reading, leaned back into his chair, and removed his glasses, never shifting his eyes from Aidele.

  “Okay, now hold your horses for a moment, Ms. Wilson. What’s this all about?”

  “You heard me! Kern Michaels is in Treyton! We can bring the son-of-a-bitch to justice! Just get a crew together and—”

  “Okay. Okay,” The sheriff leaned forward with a creak of his chair, placing his glasses and book on the desktop, and clasped his hands together. “The investigation of your father’s death is still ongoing. We don’t know what actually happened. Our scouts traced the tracks out towards Calford until they vanished into Besson County. That’s nowhere near Treyton, it’s in the opposite direction in fact. And even if what you say is true, Treyton is out of our jurisdiction.”

  “But we—”

  The sheriff held up a hand. “I’m convinced, though, we’re dealing with raiders from out of the canyons. We’re taking care of the justice part, Ms. Wilson. It’s not Kern Michaels. You don’t want to mess with that outlaw, anyhow. Just go home, mind your ranch, do some knitting. Leave the gangs to us. I’ll keep you informed about what we find out and when.”

  The sheriff picked his glasses up, put them on, grabbed his book, and leaned back into his chair. He opened the book back up and resumed reading. Aidele scoffed and turned to leave the office. The sense that his eyes were watching her retreat was strong. But she refused to look back and exited the building.

  She stormed back down the street towards the wagon where Grandfather was now loading up bags of goods. He saw her coming and waved, but his smile faded upon seeing the snarl on her face. She walked over to his purchases where they were stacked on a store cart, and grabbed a bag of wheat. She went to the wagon and chucked it into the back. Then went back for a bag of rice and repeated the process over and over, faster and faster, furiouser and furiouser. The anger wouldn’t abate. Grandfather stepped in front of her after trying to get her to stop.

  “Okay. Okay! Careful there. You’re going to hurt yourself. What’s wrong?”

  She tried to speak, tried to say anything, but found she could only toss the bag and go back for another.

  “If you don’t wish to tell me what has stuck up your craw, that’s fine. But, do me a favor, don’t take it out on the groceries. That cost me an arm and a leg.”

  Aidele looked at him and let loose a long breath, then started loading the wagon slower and more carefully. It somehow helped her calm down. Once the task was complete, Grandfather took the cart back into the store while she got onto the front bench. Grandfather came back and got into the driver’s position to whip the Marsets into motion. Aidele, however, might have calmed down, but the burning was deep within now.

  Her whole world became a red, angry fire.

  “I VALUE YOUR privacy, Aidele,” Grandfather said. “However, your silence is deafening. What happened in town? I saw you coming from the jailhouse. Dare I ask why?”

  Aidele didn’t immediately reply. Only sat in silence watching the sandy ground with its sparse shrubbery passing slowly by. A light breeze brought a rocky scent with it, making her throat and nose somewhat chalky. Grandfather looked forward with a slight sigh. High in the cloudless sky, the sun cast off a whitish yellow glow diluting the vivid blue atmosphere. The horizon line was ringed in pale oranges and yellows. Wide open plains of dirt and ragweed surrounded them. Mountains were pale shadows in the far distance. A few lonely desert swillows (tiny brown birds) fluttered from cover to cover seeking moist foods, their chittering loud and carried across the landscape on the wind.

  Soon they would be entering the splintered chaos surrounding their homestead.

  “I… told the sheriff about Kern Michaels and his gang. And where to find them.”

  “Who is this now?” Grandfather turned to her.

  Aidele took a breath. “The man who murdered my father. I found out today that his name… is Kern Michaels. But the sheriff isn’t concerned about him. Wrote it off as nothing. He’s out there… terrorizing the countryside. And nobody seems interested in doing anything about it.”

  She looked away to the shaded mountains far in the distance. Grandfather frowned saying nothing for a long moment. As he worked through his thoughts, they heard a manger hound howl far off in the distance. He cleared his throat.

  “Perhaps they are doing something. It has only been a few weeks. Be patient. Whoever this man is, he’ll be brought to justice.”

  “Not by them! I saw it in his eyes! They have no intention of pursuing this! My father’s death remains unpunished and the sheriff just sits there, sipping coffee and reading books. No, the only real justice one can find out here is what we make for ourselves. It was just as true for my mother. The fucking bitch that killed her is still out there happy as a pig in shit!”

  Grandfather shook his head vehemently. “Don’t bring your mother into this! It’s not the same thing!”

  Aidele shook her head and looked forward crossing her arms over her chest. Her expression was one he had not seen since her childhood. It was a look that said no matter what you told her she was going to act regardless.

  “I’m going after Michaels. And I’m putting him down.”

  Grandfather gritted his teeth. “This is not a game! Not like shooting Suture moles in the field. These are men who will shoot back. You’re not some Red Star Sheriff that can take the law into your own hands.”

  Aidele glared at him with furrowed brows. “A red what?”

  Grandfather cursed inwardly. “Never-mind. The point is, the sheriff is doing what he can and will deal with this matter.”

  She looked back ahead straightening in her seat. Her hat cast deep shadows across her brow. “The law in the Wastelands is a joke. Half the time just as corrupt as the outlaws. The other half just as useless.”

  They rode on in silence. Grandfather felt a deep fear and helplessness in his gut.

  AIDELE DIDN’T KNOW how she was going to deal with Kern Michaels. In fact, she didn’t kno
w anything about the man save for his name.

  And that he had a gang.

  Also, that he was ‘terrorizing the Sutures’.

  She sat on the edge of her father’s bed looking around the room. It wasn’t a large room but was impeccably clean. The full-size bed was made up, pillows fluffed. The medium size dresser with its backboard mirror was cleared off of any personal items. Beside the closed closet was a freestanding armoire. By the door was a shoe shelf full of her mother’s shoes. And all of it was a chock-full reminder of her parents. Her father’s old patchwork jacket was even still hanging on his coatrack.

  It made her want to start crying again.

  Stop it. This isn’t helping you solve your Kern Michaels problem. Grandfather has a gun cabinet in the basement… Right. Like he’s just going to let you take one of his classics to murder a man.

  She stood up and placed her hands on her lower back, then stretched causing an audible pop to ring out. Looking out the window behind the bed, she saw the workshop out back. There was another window in the room, but it was blocked by the dresser mirror. She wished it was blocking this one instead. Forcing herself to turn away from the view, she went to the closet.

  The interior was packed with hanging clothing: coats, pants, dresses. On the floor of the closet, a myriad of her father’s shoes and some thick boots. Also boxes full of whatever knick-knacks her parents had collected over the years. Undoubtedly some would be items that had been exchanged as gifts, token pebbles of love.

  On the top shelving, more boxes, books, and several colorful choices of Grey Lances (brimmed hats worn frequently by Wastelanders to protect against the elements and so named in honor of an old Chuhukon pioneer who was one of the first to travel from one end of the Wastelands to the other on foot, or so she’d heard once). What really drew her attention was a deep crimson Grey Lance. She pulled it down, tried it on. Perfect fit. She ran her hand along the brim, it was stiff and covered in a material that was almost like felt. Its center section was crowned by a suede circlet in black.