BLUE FLAME Chapter One: A Desert Town Pt1

  Note: this is a complete re-write of a story i posted years ago

Part I: Rags Precede Royalty

A man approaches on horseback, a dark mirage on yellow desert. A cloud of sand follows behind. The man approaches a village. He has followed the path of the old times. US Hwy 80, winding and stretching through barren land. Cracked and crumbing the road is a skeleton buried in the wind. He licks his dry blistering cracked lips and coughs. Then wipes the blood off on his leg.

At the town’s entrance, a row of large rectangular signs stand tall. On their sun bleached surfaces read: “Paint the town any color you desire.” A woman smiles holding a beverage. The rest is too faint to make out. A few numbers run across the bottom. Other stands in a century of dust. A picture of an orange exotic insect reads: “Supreme Buffet, Eat Till Ya Drop!”

“Billboards,” he mutters words for the first time in over a week. “Worthless,” he exhales. He man specializes in forgotten things.

The man dismounts his horse upon entering the town. Black leather boots land hard on dry soil. A cloud of white dust erupts. A sharp wind riffles his loose jacket. He pulls the black scarf over his mouth, and tips the brim of his hat forward to shadow his eyes. The stranger leads his grey horse past the billboard gates and down the center of the old main street. The street is empty.

Yellow grass grows out of cracks in a parking lot. Dried leaves and skeletal vines envelop gas station pumps. Remnants of the deceased concept. A crow perches on a sign: $5.99 per gallon. It caws at the traveller, then hops down and pecks at something in the ditch.

Grass bends in the hot breeze. The stranger leads his horse on weak legs down narrow streets between small dwellings. His boots click and drag on cracked pavement. He follows the sound of laughter and chatter.
The town folk are gathered a few blocks down and around a corner. They mingle under the shade of tents and awnings in an open market.

Sidewalks weave between buildings. Tiny sand particles fill the cracks in stone. The stranger can’t imagine how these people managed to prosper out on the other side of the wastelands. How did they survive? Their isolated was their salvation? A relic themselves.

A woman in a light blue knee high floral dress notices him first. The conversation with her friend is broken with a long pause as her eyes widen. She whispers and her friend turns. A look of surprise and fright pales their faces. They watch speechless as he approaches. More of the town folk begin to notice something awry and turn their attention to the lone figure that’s dragging himself out of the desert like a ghost.

He begins to cough. Spats of deep red blood flicker across the back of his hand. Falling to his knees he lets go of the rope to his horse.

“Water?” He begs as he continues to cough. “Please.”

A commotion stirs as people run to his aid. The white light of day fades from his vision. Horse hooves standing in the broken road turn horizontal and the last thing he sees is the pavement. The desert ghost walker falls sideways and loses consciousness.

Dark shadows like bats erupt over his mind. He is holding her little hand with the intent to protect her. They were searching. The searching now wails in the sky. She isn't afraid, but he is, so they run to the edge of the dry dead forest burned and harvested. Scattered stumps of once massive trees and branchless trunks erect like tall spears scratch the sky with sharp tips. The shadows above can not penetrate through. The shadows above can not find them in the entanglement of bark and thorn.

Sanctuary in the forest, the wailing follows overhead in darkness. Purple black skies swirl a vortex of pain. It pushes them further from their path. It is so hungry.

A shimmering gelatinous drip reflects pale moonlight on its smooth dark skin surface. It hangs from the only branch and crystallizes as they approach. A glow from within pulses blue indigo. He reaches out and touches it with an open palm. Cold fills his body. It shimmers into a thousand cracks and shatters releasing the scattered darkness it withheld from this world. It lifts them, tearing apart their protection and swallows them in that which flies above. For a moment a figure stands in the clearing beyond the forest separating the darkness. He is tall as the trees with a bison's head and large wide horns. Leaning on an ax he watches and closes his eyes. The sky turns white with his breath.

He opens his eyes.

“Where am I?”

There is a short man with a long gray beard sitting and fiddling with some objects on a table in the small yellow painted room. Sunlight and fresh air weave in through thin white shades.

“How long have I been asleep?” The man asks trying to sit up in the sweat saturated bed.

The bearded man half turns towards the man while still working with whatever objects his tinkers with. “Oh, lil' over three days.” He replies. “Good run of the fever.”

“My horse?”

“Alice took her to the barn. Thirsty she was.” The bearded man said scratching the wild silver hairs in his big bushy side burns. His voice deep and soothing. He straightens the little round spectacles at the end of his nose and looks over the top of the silver frames turning to face the man in the bed. “Think you'll be ok. Couple more days of rest and hydration.” The bearded man said.

“Onum.” The man said fighting to sit up. “I need to...”

“Hey, hey there partner. Calm down.” The bearded man walked over and put a large open hand on the bedded man’s chest to ease him back down. “You need to rest. You have a bad case of dry lung. Riding the edge of the dead zone, what did you expect? Here drink this.” The bearded man handed him a glass of white liquid.

“I don’t understand how you got here. Showing up like that.” The bearded man said. “Suppose that’s a story you’ll be having to tell the Sheriff. Can’t say we’ve ever had a visit from an outsider for nearly over 900 moons. Most them the scavenger type. You know, almost part animal or something. Sheriff ended up putting them into the deep sleep.”

“Who? How? My things?”

“Your stuff is in the wardrobe over there.” He points to the cream colored tall box decorated with a massive green bird with golden feathers. “I'm the town Doc. Doctor Kommienezuspadt,” he says with a jaw that could bite a horse in half. “I know, I know, yeah, yeah. The name, a real tongue twister. Good luck pronouncing it right? Just call me Doc, or Doctor K. Tom if you're my friend.” He walks back across the room. His shiny black shoes clicking on dry floorboards. Knees creak as he stretches out his back before picking up a square black brief case. “Need my instruments.” He says. “Can't play in a band without my instruments. Can't mend the wounded if ya don't have a clue.” He whistles out of the room. “Wouldn't cha know, the sky, finally turning blue. If it wasn't for me. It must be for you,” sings the Dr. preparing to leave the room flipping on a top hat. “I'll be back soon Alex. You stay right there for another day or three and we'll have you all fixed up. We'll have you all tip top.” He continues whistling a tune toward the door.

“How’d you…?”

“Know your name?” Said the Doc before leaving the room. “It was on your papers. Alex, Alex Shuffle, right?”

“Yeah. That’s what they call me.” He said closing his eyes once again.

Hours pass like days. Days pass like weeks. Alex stares at blank walls as the Doc feeds him strange tasting liquids he says are medicine. The cough subsides. He is able to walk around again as his strength returns. He continues to study the map that’s led him here.

The Sheriff pops in for a visit. Alex over hears their whispering conversation.

“He seems harmless enough Sheriff. Though, I still can’t explain how he got here. Should be dead, crow food. Mumbled something in his sleep about searching for something, something old.”

“Yeah, well, you keep an eye on him for me Doc will ya? Let me know first twitch of a suspicion if he’s going to be any trouble. Don’t want any complaints or issues. Whole town is spooked him being here, walking in like a ghost and almost dying in the streets. Certainly don’t want whatever bug he might have had getting passed around.”

“Sure thing Sheriff.” The Doc said. “I have my good eye on him.”

“So what’s brought you to Kasia again?” Asks the Doc rubbing his bristle chin as the two men sit down for breakfast. “Didn't think it possible for anyone to reach us.” He squints with one eye. “To tell ya the truth, didn’t think there was anyone out there too reach us.”

“Oh, there is,” said Alex. “And it wasn’t easy.”

“Whatcha got in that bag you keep fiddling with?” The Doc asks pointing to the black satchel Alex has been carrying around. “Seems pretty special.”

“I’m hoping so.”

“Special enough to risk your life for?”

“Seems like it.” Alex said setting down his warm beverage. “Special enough to die for...” He shuffles through a compartment and pulls out a heavy copper tube with embroidered lettering decorated in red and blue jewels.

“What's is it?” Asks the Doc.

Alex clicks a button and twists one end. Two halves separate connected by a chain. Inside is a rolled up a piece of cloth. He pulls it out and unrolls it on the table.

“It's a map.” He says.

“Looks pretty old,” said the Doc tipping his head back. “You a treasure hunter or something?”

“Something like that.” Said Alex. “I use to be an art dealer. Now I’m more of an archaeologist. Specializing in the Old World.”

“Ah, you must be talking pre-apocalyptic times.” Said the Doc. “Didn’t think too much existed anymore. May I?” He asks gesturing towards the ancient piece of fabric Alex’s gaze is transfixed on.

“Oh, yes,” Alex says snapping out of his spell and hands Doctor K. the map.

The good Doc lifts it to the light and studies it. “Ah yeah, I see it now,” he says. Alex’s face squirms and his upper lips begins to twitch.

“So you go around the dead world, to dig in the dirt, trying to collect junk?”

“Something like that,” replies Alex now unable to contain himself. “Please, be careful with that and give it back.”

“Sounds like an exciting occupation,” says the Doc dropping the tough leathery fabric back on the dark stained knotty pine table. “Bet there is some weird shit out there.”

“You couldn’t even imagine.”

“Try me?”

“Maybe another time. It's not always glorious.” says Alex pointing to the scar under his left eye. “A job is a job. Sometimes work comes with a price.”

“I see,” says the doc. “Well, you should take this map to Wren, our Brother Comfort. They own the watering hole down at the end of the main drag, Barstow. They love a good treasure hunt. Knows all the areas on the outskirts of town. If they aren't able to find your golden nugget, don't think anyone in town could.”

“Thanks,” said Alex rolling the map back up and sliding it into its safe copper compartment. “I might do that.”

“Don't mention it.” said the Doc standing up. “Looks like you’re pretty well enough to be on about with your business. Don’t be going chasing vultures again now. Sometimes the Earth doesn't wantcha.”

“Suppose not, yet.” Alex said, “though Earth will die screaming.”

“Ah, right, right kid. That’s a good one.

“How much do I owe you?” Asks Alex

“Your type of money is any good here.” Dr. K squints his aged eyes, wrinkles crease down the sides of his face. “A favor is a favor in Kasia.” He says. “Call me an old socialist and pay it forward.”

A small cough catches him on his way out the door. “Must be this dry heat. Lungs feel little rusty.”