2018 WRITE ON MY WAY SUMMER WRITING CONTEST WINNING STORIES

CONGRATULATIONS TO THE FIRST WRITE ON MY WAY WRITING CONTEST WINNERS!

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The Death of Time

By: Peter B. Henlein

Tick. Tock.Tick. Tock.It was such a familiar sound, even to a Westface. He had heard it dozens of times before, and it never seemed to cease aboard the Nuremberg. Without the situation, it would have been quite a soothing sound. However, staring into the eyes of the man responsible for the death of thousands, the dull tick-tock of the man’s footsteps and cane sent shivers down Peter’s spine.“Peter Henlein,” came the man’s voice. It was an absurdly soft voice- barely above a whisper. It was smooth and flowing, and paired with the tick-tock of his walking sounded exactly like what his name meant. “Are you here to kill me?” he finished his question.The Grandfather came face-to-face with Peter now. The sight of him was even more unnerving than Peter had ever pictured. The old man was not disturbing, on the contrary, he was actually quite handsome. But everything about him sent chills through the bones of his onlookers. The Grandfather had thick, silver-and-grey hair that was quite unkempt. He was clean shaven, and had light wrinkles on his forehead. But, what everyone only really saw when they looked at this man were his eyes. To say they were ancient-looking would not being doing them justice in the slightest. They were like grey stones that had been smoothed over at the bottom of a lake for decades. They were calculating, discerning, judging. Peter could feel them reading into every bit of his conscious. Peter mustered up every bit of his courage and put it to use as the Grandfather took yet another step closer. The wizened master of time was clad in thick cargo pants with more belts and watches than Peter had ever seen strapped in one place. The brown-and-tan Eastclan coat that the Grandfather wore, while being covered in all of the cogs and gears that a Time Faction uniform always has, also bore a bright red pocket watch imbedded on the left breast. Underneath his bulky Eastclan jacket and cape was a musty old t-shirt with a logo of some pre-oligarchy soda brand. The combination of clothes was so bizarre that, when Peter was finally able to tear his gaze away from the ancient eyes, he blinked in disbelief at it. “I suppose Father sent you,” the Grandfather said as he turned around with a superfluous swish of his cape. He limped across the catwalk on the Nuremberg’s bridge and sighed. Peter tightened his grip around the hilt of his rapier and quickly drew it out. The newly-forged Tempus Sword vibrated softly in his hand. “Yes,” he replied, “I am here to finish what he started.”The Grandfather made a clicking sound with his throat. “So serious,” he said softly as he gazed out at the stars, “Always business with young ones like you. You never stop just to gaze at the beauty of the cosmos. You’d have grown out of that, one day. Shame that day will never come for you.”“No,” Peter replied as firmly as his shot nerves could let him, “You’re going to die before you take another innocent life.”“Innocent?” the Grandfather turned suddenly. HIs voice remained soft, but had more gravity and intensity about it now, “There are no ‘innocent lives.’ Everyone has a time when they steal, or cheat, or lie. There is no lifetime of innocence. Not even one!” Upon hearing himself get loud, he took a long, shaky breath, “Time runs out for everyone who is not innocent. I am the controller of that time.”“Death is not yours to control!” Peter felt himself yelling as the blood boiled in his veins, “Your ships target unarmed, unprotected districts! You flattened my home with a snap of your fingers!”The old man sighed and lifted up his cane. Peter’s blood ran suddenly cold. How had he missed that? This thing that the killer of so many now brandished in his hand wasn’t a cane at all, but the biggest Tempus Sword Peter had ever seen. It was a broadsword nearly as big as three of Peter’s rapiers side by side. Peter gawked at its bronze bladed and could only imagine the power that it was constantly sucking out of the Grandfather. The amount of energy his own small rapier pulls from him after a good fight leaves him sleeping for days. But a sword THAT size would probably kill him if he tried to use it. “Do you like it?” said the Grandfather as if he were reading the boy’s mind, “Took me only a few centuries to craft it, but I can assure you it was time well spent. After all, what’s a few hundred years for a device that lets you rule the universe forever?”Peter swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to force his hand to stop shaking as he raised his weapon. “Not forever! Not past today!”The Grandfather made a tsk tsk sound as he began to walk back over, the tock now missing from his gait. He handled the sword as easy as one would handle a baseball bat as he swung it playfully back and forth. “You’ve killed a lot of people just to get to me; you must be really tired.”Peter was extremely tired, and the effects of his sword were starting to get to him. He had had a team to help him get into the Nuremberg of course, but Father Time’s instructions were very specific: only he could face the Grandfather alone. As to why that was the case- Peter and his friends had no idea. “Oh,” the old man said as he glanced behind him suddenly, “You’re not alone, are you? I should have thought of that. You’ve got a ship… with a pilot and three passengers out there.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, “Such a pretty pilot I might add.”“Shut up!” Peter yelled as the sword in his hands began shaking- itching to be used, “You leave my friends alone!”“Oh… it was her that was responsible for getting into my fleet. Wasn’t it? Her that blew a hole in the side of my ship so you could get in; her that’s been jamming my weapons; her that’s been talking to you all this time…” He broke into a very wicked grin, “Her that’s speaking to you right now.”All Peter did was blink, and the communication device that was on his ear was suddenly off and in the old man’s hands. Sarah hadn’t even gotten a word out before the Grandfather crushed the little piece of tech between his bony fingers. “I think when I’m done with you, I’ll kill her first.”The mixture of fear at the old man’s unbelievable speed and the rage that coursed through him at the thought of losing his friends was too much to bear silently. Talking was over: Peter was going to complete his mission. With a mental command, Peter activated his Tempus Sword. The gears concealed in its round hilt started humming and clicking as the blade sputtered to life. Peter felt new energy flow through his veins and into his heart- which began to beat a lot faster. His brain began to think faster, his eye movements quickened, the jitters that had been in his blade spread up through his arm and then to his whole body, until he became one with it. The world around him seemed to slow: the clock-sound of the very ship became long and drawn out. The dust particles in the air began to move so slow that they looked like snow all around him. Every little detail about everything became noticeable as everything slowed: and Peter sped up. Time was no longer relevant, time no longer had meaning, for when you wield a Tempus Sword- you are time.At least, that’s what Peter believed as he sped forward to strike down his adversary. As fast as Peter thought he was, he was nothing to the Grandfather. For, even in this state, as soon as Peter blinked again, the Grandfather was no longer there. Peter turned on his heels as he felt a sharp pain in his side and stared in amazement as the thin, old warrior smiling triumphantly at him. He was holding his sword off to the side, and that’s when Peter realized that, when he had passed Peter, the Grandfather had stabbed him in the side.Peter’s vision began to cloud and he lost some of his control over his rapier. He had to stop making his heart pump blood to the wound- he had to slow himself down to survive. But slowing down meant letting the Grandfather win, and he would fail his mission. No, he had to go faster. Faster than he had ever gone. Faster than the Grandfather. Upon seeing that his target had not died, the Grandfather reactivated his monstrous blade and began to come forward. Peter poured every bit of his mental and physical strength into his blade. He had to win, for the sake of everyone counting on him. He had to win. He sped up. Faster and faster as he channeled more and more energy into his sword. He felt his wound growing worse and worse the faster he went, and his limbs grew more and more stiff and heavy. But he went faster still.All of this only took about half a second, and he was able to go fast enough to actually see the form of the Grandfather rushing towards him at a great speed. Biting his lip to vent the pain, Peter swung up his rapier to try and deflect the incoming blow. He felt his blade meet something of immense force that suddenly pushed down upon him. Peter closed his eyes and tried to go just a little faster so he could see his opponent. When he opened his eyes, he could actually make out the blurry form of the Grandfather staring angrily down at him. “You’ve lasted longer than anyone ever has against me!” his voice was no longer soft and gentle. Now, it was loud, thundering, and going almost too fast to understand, “This battle is an insult to me! I will strike you down!” Peter knew he was going to fall here. But if he could take down this tyrant, even in his last breath, then the galaxy would be a safer place. Peter racked his tired brain for a way to win as he and this unstoppable force pushed against one another. Then, the young Westface did something no one in time had ever done. He let go of the blade with his left hand, reached out, and grasped firmly around the hilt of the Grandfather’s blade. Everything exploded in unimaginable pain. Peter’s vision went completely out, and he dropped his rapier. As he reached out quickly and grasped the evil leader of time’s weapons with both hands, he heard the Grandfather’s voice in his head. “NO! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?”Peter felt his body rushing forward into time at unbelievable speeds. The whole world around him seemed to no longer exist, and all that remained was him and his adversary.“Your time is up!” Peter screamed as he yanked the sword from the Grandfather’s grasp. He could hardly feel his hands anymore as he swung it and cut down the man who had once been above time itself. It was all over, and Peter smiled as he collapsed.Peter Henlein had saved a great many lives that day, including his own. For after he killed that evil man, he fell down and dropped the sword that would have killed him. His friends found him soon after, and together they rushed home to tell Father of all that had happened. No more was that horrible sound from the Nuremberg ever heard again:Tick. Tock.Tick Tock.

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Sunōenjeru雪

By Tamara Poarch

I bet you did not know that you can be burned by the snow… My parents found out the hard way. I am Yuki and I was born on a dark snowy night under a full moon. No stars twinkled, and the air was crisp and cold. In the midst of tragedy, I was born. As my mother and father’s light burned out, I was born.I do not like to talk about my birth. It would be the first and last time I saw my parents. I could not tell you who they were or what they looked like. I was raised in a small village in Japan by a temple goddess. Although at the time I did not know she was a goddess. To me she was like a big sister. I was left in her temple that cold night. Before my father took his final breath that faithful night, he brought me to what would be my home. I guess he thought the temple would keep me safe. I was wrapped in my mom’s sweater for warmth and placed on a pillow located in the center of the temple. My hair was as white as snow to the eye, but I learned latter that my hair was actually clear. At night it appeared white and during the day it looked the color of the sky. So if it was a crisp blue sky, my hair would be blue, if the sky was grey my hair would be grey, but no matter how dark it was at night my hair was always white. The goddess told me once that I was a gift left to the local villagers by my parents, that no matter how dark it got, there was light in the world. My goddess taught me many things in life, along with the traditions of the temple. I never ventured outside the village but always wanted to explore beyond its borders. Finally, this year I am old enough to start Highschool and Goddess wanted me to attend one of the best in a nearby Japanese city. It was a local co ed boarding school. I was excited as much as I was afraid. The villagers gave me a huge send off with gifts and trinkets they felt would help me on my journey. I started my first class on my 15th birthday. Little did I know that night I would get a gift from the goddess that would change my life. Little did they know that snow could burn…

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MY LOVE HAS GONE ACROSS THE SEA 

By Evan Nicholas Leary

Based on the song by Andrew Peterson

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-xAOBnkLf4

I stare out my window, summer sunlight bouncing off my face. But I don’t mind it. My eyes flicker a bit, but I’ve become used to the bright shine of the sun. I watch the waves of the sea and the harbor, crowded with boats. Men unload boxes and crates, and seagulls call out into the unknown west.The west. That is where he is. My love, my dear husband, has gone across the sea, to find a country, far and fair. He and his men said that the land is steadily growing darker. Strange things are happening, they said. Kingdoms are growing and spreading, and with their expanse, the threat of war whispers in every ear. Nearly every monarch’s court is filled with men of utter deceit and pride and selfish motives. They seek their own profit. Some even control the very king himself.The men knew that this wasn’t right. But what could they, poor fishermen and sailors, do to make a difference? One thing: to find a new and beautiful country, one that they could escape the evil of the world in.“I’ll come back for you,” Timothy had said, “once we find a place. It will be our place - we’ll have a house on the beach or any spot you like. I’ll come back.” Then, I had watched him sail away into the gilded west. Ever since, I had sat each day by the window, reading, or eating, or simply just waiting. All the while, my heart stirs and tosses, like the waves. I wait all winter long, singing a summer song to bide my time and to comfort me. Spring always follows winter, just as morning always follows night. But my heart will never rest until my love returns to me. Or… or I set out to find him there.I have been wondering if maybe I should set out to find him. I know nothing of sailing, nothing of finding direction through the stars, nothing of what is out in the great beyond. But something calls to me… something across the sea. I know I’ll probably never be able to find my way, but… still… I have some bags packed. Just in case.I sigh again and stand up. I step out the door and breath in the warm, salty air. I can hear the gulls’ cries clearly now. I walk along the pebbled street and down to the harbor.I look out past the sailors, past the bustling crowd, past the piled-up crates, past even the horizon.The west.I take a deep breath and clench my handkerchief behind my back. I always do that when my heart feels like it is going to crack. I gulp, my eyes glued to the glistening ocean.“Lily!”I turn sharply around to see my friend Mary approaching me briskly. “Oh, Mary, hello,” I say, my voice a little dry. I quickly clear it.“Hey! Hi! How are you?” She embraces me and I pat her back. I’m really not in the mood to talk. But knowing Mary, I’ll be standing here listening to her jabber on about what her late husband has been doing, how so very unjust he is in not getting her the blouse she wanted, and then we’ll go and have tea, while she talks about how they never go out to eat, and on and on until the sun is set and I feel more lonely than ever.“Oh, I - I’m alright.”“Oh, that’s wonderful! You’ve been so dreary lately.”“Have I? I’m sorry, I just have much to think about. How are you?”“Simply dreadful! Oh, just dreadful!”Here we go, I think. “Oh, my, what’s the matter?”“Oh, well, you will just never guess what John did just last night! Do you know what he did?”“No, I-”“He went out with some friends to the tavern! Can you believe that!?”“Well, Mary, I thought he goes to the tavern regularly.”“Yes, but next week…” she lowered her voice. “Next week is our anniversary!”“Well, congratulations!” I reply, a little ping of sorrow tapping my heart. My anniversary is coming up….“Well, that’s kind, but with John going out with friends and all…”“But what’s the matter with him going out yesterday if your anniversary is in a week?”“Well, we need to prepare! I mean, we’ll invite all the couples we know, and of course I’ll need some new gowns - he never gets me the ones I want, can you believe he didn’t get me that blouse I asked for? And just think of all the musty ones in my closet! They aren’t fit to be looked at, let alone to wear! I say, Lily, I must take you out shopping soon. Look at that thing you’re wearing!”I look down at my green dress. It was my favorite. “Why? What’s the matter with it?”“Just look at it! Where on earth did you get it?” She pokes the hem and wrinkles her nose with disgust.“Tim… Timothy got it for me, before he… before he left.” My emotions are a mix of indignation, sadness, and others that I don’t even recognize.“Oh, of course. A sailor isn’t expected to know anything about dresses and fashion.”“I think it’s very pretty,” I reply hotly.“Oh, please, Lily, don't be silly.”“I’m not! I really do love it.”Mary laughs. “Of course you do. But you never knew much of fashion either.” She turns and looks out at the ocean. She quickly turns back to me. “Ugh, it’s so bright and… salty. Ugh. Why anyone would ever leave here to sail out on some wild goose chase, I can’t-”“It’s not a wild goose chase,” I nearly snap.“What was it then?”I sigh. “They went out in search of new lands.”“Pfft. Please. They’re probably just looking for some gold or a nice place to settle down away from everybody else.”I turn a little too swiftly on her. “No. Timothy is coming back. He promised.”Mary laughs but looks a little surprised at my expression. “You of all people should know men. They don’t stick to their word.”“Timothy does.”Mary looks at me with a sad, I’m-sorry-for-your-stupidity smile. I clench my handkerchief tight. “Lily… he’s not coming back. They’re either wallowing in treasure, or they’re dead. Either way, nothing will make them return.”That’s too much. “Oh, yeah, Mary! I guess you know about all this after your six husbands all left you!”Mary looks utterly shocked, and I watch her with a guilty pleasure. “He loves me, and he promised to return! What’s more, if he can’t return to me, then I will sail to him instead!”Mary’s jaw works in complete disbelief.“I’m leaving. I’m leaving today. I’m leaving everything. I’m going to find him. I’m going to find Timothy.” Without another glance at Mary, I turn on my heels and march away to my house. I burst through my door, storm to my room, and look under my bed. There are three black bags there, a little dust frosting each. I hastily snatch them, tear them open, stuff a few extra belongings in, and then stand up. I walk down to the harbor, my bags swaying on my shoulders. A little boat is rocking at one dock, with an ancient, withered sailor standing by it. I drop all the money I have into his hand. He clasps it greedily and shows me into the boat. I hoist the sail and set out.Mary and some of my other friends charge up to the dock, waving wildly at me. “Where are you going!?” they cried.“To Timothy! To a brave, new world, where Timothy is!” I call out over the waves.“How will you get there!?”“I know where he is. I feel it in my heart. I can guide this boat. I’ll steer it by the cord that bound my heart to his until he’s found!”I turn my head away from the frolicking women and to the great west… to my love. Sailors turn to watch me, and some call for me to stop. Passing boats crash through the waves, steering by me and missing me by inches. I ignore them. I ignore everything. I focus on my love, my love for Timothy, my dear husband. Nothing else will guide me, not stars, not compasses, nothing but the cord that bound my heart to his.I’m not afraid. I will find him.Days pass as the wind steadily blows me away from the east. The sky is clear and blue, and one by one, the seagulls disappear. I’m all alone, in a small boat in the middle of the sea. But I know that I’m closer to Timothy than I’ve ever been in years. “I’m coming,” I murmur.I watch the sky. Clouds are growing dark, flying in fast. The wind has become rougher and seems to be coming from all directions. My boat moans and creaks, and I pray that it will stay together.Suddenly, I find myself caught in a storm. Towering waves crash over me, and I come up sputtering. Rain pelts every inch of my body. Thunder screams and the great gale shrieks overhead. Lightning crackles through the air as the storm continues its attack. I breath hard, but keep my course steady. The waves grow ever larger, but all the while, I think of my dear husband. I think of the love that ties us eternally together. Nothing can break it.A wave rises above me, one with such force as no sailor has ever known. Everything slows. I feel the boat rip below me, and I watch the sea coming to smother me, like a cloth over a corpse. But I feel peace. I don’t fear. I only feel love.*********************************************************Timothy walks along the shore, laughing with his men. Gold chains are hung about their necks. Their clothes are dyed with rare purple. They are searching for more pearls.“What’s that?” one man says. He points over to a ragged object washed up on the shore. Timothy strolls up to it, followed by his men. He stops abruptly. The others look down, frowning. Suddenly, Timothy cries out and crumples to the ground. “L-L-Lily! Lily, my dear wife! Oh, my love!”He picks up Lily’s body in his arms, sobbing violently. His friends look uncomfortably at one another. Timothy violently tears off his gems and jewels and throws them into the ocean. “What have we done!? While our wives and friends sit miserably waiting for us in the east, we frolick about in luxury! And now look! My wife! My dear Lily! All this time… I had forgotten her. I was a fool. I was a fool.”Timothy gathered a little food, then set out for home. He could no longer bear the sight of gold. He left the men whom he had considered friends but had convinced him to stay in the west and forget about his love for his wife. He sails with Lily’s body, snugly laid in the boat as if she was only sick. He notices something about her face - was it… a smile?They arrive in the harbor. He jumps out, carrying his wife’s body. Mary and her friends charge up but stop when they see Lily. Timothy walks in silence to his house. He fumbles in his pocket for the key but realized he had sold it to the natives for the special dye. He screams in anger and kicks the door down. Tears stream down his face as he stares into the quiet house, the one he and his wife had spent so many long hours in, talking, watching the sea, singing. He stepped in. On a little table to his left was a small piece of paper. He picked it up and gasped.“My dear Timothy,I have longed for you for so long, and I have not been able to stand to be here alone. So, I have set out to find you. I write this in case I should be lost in the sea. I want you to know that I love you. And should you find my body pale, and wrecked upon the loamy shale, rejoice, my love, and call me blessed. In death, my love, I loved you best.With blessings, Lily.”Timothy never lost that note. Over the years, he left it where he found it, and on the same table, he scribbles down a song, a song to remember his loving wife. It’s title is… My Love Has Gone Across the Sea.Timothy knew he had been a fool. He had been a complete idiot. But he repented. He repented of it all. He knew that his wife was not lost, but at home. And he would see her again one day. So he rejoiced. When his head was silver and white, and he let out his last breath, he rejoiced. For in death, he loved Lily best.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

STICK-UP AT SWALLOW CREEK

By Eva-Joy Schonhaar

I'd been reading Hunter of the Painted Lynx, and to come from that thrilling world into the dusty streets of Swallow Creek was an unpleasant transition.“Blast,” I muttered as dust blew in my face. I crossed the street, careful to avoid cow pies and the like, and entered the bank. I stepped into the bank, out of the blazing sun, and spotted four people who looked up at me. The bank teller, the customer he was assisting, and two other people waiting in line.“Yes, you heard me correctly. I want to close my account.”“But-”“Everything, Mr. Jones.”The woman who'd spoken was middle-aged and wore all black. Her face showed a strength of character I wished I possessed when Father tried to run my life.While Mr. Jones worked at closing the client's account, the door opened and two men strode in, handkerchiefs covering their faces. One trained his revolver on the teller, the other on the woman who'd spoken, the two other customers...and me.“You know what to do,” the man by the counter said, tossing a sack to the teller.A hold-up! How many times had I wished for such excitement while reading books like Hunter of the Painted Lynx or The Three Outlaws? Only, now that it was happening I didn't feel brave. Just a little queasy from the oily coffee I'd drunk on the train.“Everyone...back against that wall.” The one outlaw used his gun to herd us across the room like sheep.A fight almost broke out when one of the hostages, a giant of a man, was forced to surrender the revolver in his jacket, but the outlaw had us covered and he knew it. My own weapon was taken, but as I'd had yet to fire it I didn't feel the loss so keenly.As the teller counted out stacks of bills, his eyes flicked from the door to the money in his hands.“Hurry up,” the thief covering him snapped.The teller flinched. Without a word of warning, he threw two fistfuls of bills in the outlaw's face and bolted for the door.Blam!The teller collapsed to the floor, blood trickling from a hole in his back and filling the cracks in the floorboards. I couldn't tear my eyes away; his was the first dead body I had seen.“Idiot!” With a growl, the one who'd been collecting the money turned and slapped the other outlaw. “Toss him out and bolt the door before the sheriff gets here.”I swallowed. We were trapped in here with a killer.The other outlaw finished stuffing the money into his sack.“How much?” the murderer said. He sounded young.“Enough. Sheriff'll be breathing down our necks soon. So “Do we shoot 'em now?” the kid asked. He seemed excited at the prospect, and I resolved to never make eye contact with someone that deranged. The other outlaw might be in charge, but I had the feeling the kid would do what he wanted and leave the consequences for later.Someone pounded on the door.“This is Sheriff Bradley! Open up!”Beside me, the older woman huffed. “Now he wants to help,” she muttered.“Forget it!” the leader called back.“Let the folks in there go!” the sheriff shouted. “Then we'll talk!”“It won't happen, Sheriff! They're not leaving until you agree to what we want: safe passage out of town, with the money, and three fresh horses.”Silence from outside.“Why don't you let me go?” the older woman suddenly burst out. “You'd have enough hostages and I'd only get in your way. I'd promise not to make any trouble with the sheriff.” There was a bitter twist to her mouth as she said the last word.Disgust filled me. Why should this high-and-mighty woman get to go free when we were trapped here?The leader snorted. “Forget it. You're stayin'.”“Yeah--” the kid began but was interrupted by the crack of a bullet. The outlaws hit the ground, though keeping their guns ready for the slightest sign of trouble me and the other hostages.“Sheriff,” the kid muttered and cocked his revolver. The leader jumped forward and ripped it out of his hand. The kid stared after the weapon as though he'd just lost his best friend. “Whatcha do that for?”“Listen, boy,” the leader said, his voice an inch away from being patronizing. “They're trying to draw our fire. And if you kill one of the sheriff's boys, or the sheriff himself, they're gonna be out for blood. Got it?”The kid nodded. “Yeah.”“You in there!” It was the sheriff. “Are you coming out now?”The leader stepped closer to the door. “Not until you give us horses.”“Look,” said the sheriff. “You can stay in there until you're dead, for all I care. But you need to release those folks; they've no part in this.”The leader spat on the floor. “Thinks he knows it all, does he?” he muttered. The kid made a sound like he was choking, but from the grin on his face, I had to assume that he was laughing.I shook my head. This was going to take all day, maybe all night as well. I had a train to catch this evening and if I wasn't on it my entire schedule would be disrupted.And then there was the little problem of our imminent, probable death.The scorching, dry heat of mid-afternoon mellowed, but the bank's smallness made the proximity of the seven people inside stiflingThe kid wiped his face with his handkerchief and cursed the lack of water in the place.The older woman sat, back straight and stiff.The large man had rolled up his jacket for a pillow, laid down, and gone to sleep. At least, I thought he was asleep, but ever so often his eyelids would twitch, making me think otherwise.The third hostage, a bespectacled young man looked tense but calm.As for me, I sat there, worrying and not much else.I'd thought about overpowering the outlaws with the help of the others, but I'd discarded each plan right away. We didn't have guns – that was the main problem.The kid cursed again. “Why didn't we bring water with us?” he whined. “I'm thirsty.”“Because we didn't think we'd be staying,” said the leader tiredly.The kid sauntered over to their corner and I tensed. He squatted down by the older woman and as he did, the large man bolted up and grappled with him for his revolver.Blam! The man skidded back, his leg bleeding.“Stay by the window!” the leader shouted at the kid.And our chance to escape was over as soon as it had begun. I sagged against the wall.The young man, about my age, helped the wounded man sit up.“Ma'am, I need your hat scarf,” the young man said.“Certainly.” She unwound the scarf wrapped around her hat and handed it over. As the scarf was wrapped around his leg, the wounded man clenched his jaw. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.“We need to distract him from the pain,” he said. “Suppose we introduce ourselves? Might as well know each other's names.”He paused, glancing around at us.“Sure,” I said. It was the best idea I'd heard all day. The woman nodded too.“Well, my name's Walt Brodie,” the young man said. “I was here, seeing if my loan for medical school had come in. Guess I won't know for a while.” He shrugged and half-smiled. “What about you, ma'am?” he asked, nodding at the older woman.“My name is Alice...Bradley,” she said.“Bradley?” Walter said. “Any relation to Sheriff Brad--?”“His wife.” She flushed. “But I'm leaving for New York as soon as I can catch the next train. Back East is where I belong.”The wounded man groaned. Walt bent over him again. “Sorry I can't do anything more for you here,” he said. “Once we get out of here, Doctor Davis will take a look at that leg.”A couple gunshots came from outside and then the sheriff and outlaws were back to shouting at each other.“Well, it's my turn, ain't it?” the wounded man said. His voice was gravelly and rumbled up from his boots. “Name's Morris Jackson. Came in this morning. Low-down skunk that calls himself the store manager tried to cheat me again.” He scowled. “Told him I'd bust him up if he tried to take me. He handed over the money after that. Headed over here to put some of it away when those-” He looked at Mrs. Bradley and coughed. “When those no-good skunks came in.”He paused. “And I've got a knife in my boot.”A knife! A shiver worked up my spine and through my shoulders. This could be our chance.“Why didn't they find before?” Walt asked.“Made so much of a fuss over my gun, that they never thought of lookin' in my boots,” Jackson answered, grinning.“Have a plan?” Walt asked.Jackson nodded and then bit back a gasp of pain.“It can wait for now,” said Walt quickly. He glanced at me. “What about you, stranger? What brought you here?”“My name is Ed Smitty,” I said. “Bank examiner. This is my first time in Swallow Creek.”There was lots more I could say, like how my father owned this bank and the others in the chain. How I'd jumped at the chance to come West when he'd first asked me, thinking that it would as full of adventure as the dime novels I read. And how I'd written to him just yesterday, saying I quit and was coming home, all because I was bored.And now look what had happened. The Almighty had to have a sense of humour, only I didn't find it too funny at the moment.As Walt worked on re-binding the wound a little later, I asked Jackson about his plan.“I was thinkin'...why don't we take one of them prisoner?” Jackson said. “We start a ruckus and when one of 'em comes to break it up, we jump him with the knife and take his gun.”Walt tied off the wound and nodded. “Sounds good to me.”I agreed. Adrenaline ran all through me like the pleasant buzz I always got after a third cup of good coffee.“I'm all busted up, so you'll have to do it,” said Jackson. “Just wait, wait for the perfect moment. We'll only get one chance.”Night came faster than I'd expected.I was thirsty, but there was nothing for it. No water, no food, no peace. The kid prowled back and forth, occasionally shooting us an angry glare. The leader stayed by the window, quiet and waiting.Walt motioned for me to scoot a little closer. He fiddled with Jackson's bandage as he spoke, to look busy. “I've got the knife,” he said. “We start a fight, one of them'll come over to break it up, and we grab him and his gun. One of us holds the gun on the other and we threaten to kill our prisoner with the knife if they don't surrender.”I nodded. “All right. When?”“As soon as possible.” Walt looked down at Jackson, worry clouding his features.“We're done here,” the one by the window said suddenly.“What are we gonna do?” the kid asked, tightening his gun belt.“You'll see.”The leader spun the chamber of his revolver and slipped it back into its holster. He nodded toward us prisoners. “We use two as shields to keep the sheriff and deputies from taking shots at us. When we're far enough out of town, we get on the horses and go. We'll take care of the ones left over before we go.”My blood chilled in my veins.Before, I hadn't been sure I'd be ready when Walt gave the signal. But now I didn't have a choice. It was attack or die. Sure, I might not be left behind for dead but if I thought the outlaws would let me go free after using me for a shield, I was crazy.The leader sauntered over to our little group and the knife that waited for him in Walt's grip.“Get up,” he said, waving his gun at Mrs. Bradley.I was on my feet at the same time Walt rose.This was the moment.Suddenly, the long knife was in Walt's hand. He grabbed the outlaw's revolver, then his hand, then his arm, and had it twisted around before he could react.“Marty!” the leader shouted, strangled-sounding.Marty whirled around, guns ready, but it was too late.“His gun,” Walt said, voice strained. “Get his gun.”I grabbed up the revolver from the floor and trained it on Marty.“Drop your guns,” Walt said. Holding the outlaw at bay had to take an enormous amount of strength. I heard Walt swallow. “C'mon, drop them!”Marty's eyes narrowed. He made no move to abandon his weapons.“Put them on the floor, or I'll kill him!” Walt shouted.Could Walt really kill if Marty forced his hand? I doubted it, and judging from the smirk on Marty's face, he had reached the same conclusion. The grin on his face never wavered as he raised his gun to point straight at Walt's face.My hands were this close to shaking, but I clenched my jaw and refused to give in. “Drop it, Marty,” I said and to my surprise, my voice sounded cool and confident.Marty's gaze flickered for a moment from me to Walt.“What?” he sneered. “You're really gonna shoot me?” Marty laughed, laughed with a gun pointed at his face. I re-tightened my grip on the gun.“Marty-” the leader said, real fright in his voice.“I'm sick of hearing it.” Marty swung his gun to point at me.I didn't breath, just squeezed the trigger as Marty pulled his.The explosion of sound almost deafened me, but when I opened my eyes and the smoke had cleared, I was the only one in the room still standing. The leader was on the floor, clutching a bleeding arm.And Marty slumped against the wall, a hole in his chest.“Alive, but hurt bad,” Walt said after a moment's examination.I dropped the gun to the floor. Relief filled me. It was over.“Is there anything for a truce flag?” Walt said.“Why?” I asked as I dug through my pockets for a handkerchief that might have escaped my notice. Finding one, I handed it over.“Thanks,” said Walt. “We need one because if we just charge out this door, the sheriff could shoot without getting the facts first.” He opened the door a crack and pushed his hand through, waving the handkerchief and shouting hold their fire, the hostages were coming out.The wounded outlaw went out first, clutching his wound arm. Walt followed, keeping a good guard on him, and then Mrs. Bradley with her head held high. Jackson was left inside until someone came for and I hung back a little, unwilling to leave until everyone was out safely. After all, in a way, these people were my responsibility as customers of the bank.I looked out the window. Walt was explaining things to the sheriff but he lost the man's attention as Mrs. Bradley emerged from the bank.“Alice!” the sheriff shouted. Mrs. Bradley ran forward and fell into the sheriff's arms, crying. I smiled. At least one good thing had come out of this night.Later in the hotel, as I unpacked my necessaries from my carpetbag, I found the letter I'd written to Father – written, but not yet mailed – and three dime novels. I threw them in the fireplace and as I watched my petulant words and dime novels burn. I realized I didn't need them anymore.I'd finish my work for Father and then see where this land would take me.And somehow, I knew it would be more thrilling than Hunter of the Painted Lynx.

The End

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