Ashfall, 1906

I think I’m going to die in this place.

Hennessey’s trail had led Peck to Ashfall, Nevada. The brim of his Stetson shielded him from the oppressive heat of a sun-bleached sky. From the crest, Peck saw the whole of it; a town huddled in a basin of pale sandy rock. The main street was wide enough for four wagons abreast, flanked by storefronts with tall, hollow fronts. At the center, the baptist church steeple caught the afternoon sun like a spike.

Hennessy’s sister filed the missing persons report in June, two months after he’d been expected to arrive. She’d slid an old photograph across his desk of a thin man with red hair and handsome features. The scrawl on the back read, “Colm Hennessey. Thirty-One. 1899.”

“He’s all I got left,” she’d said. “The Sheriff won’t do nothin’. Said they don’t have the manpower to go searchin’ the desert for just one man. Not after sending men to San Francisco.” Peck understood what it meant to be alone in the world.

His investigation uncovered the last known sighting: a freight clerk’s ledger placing Hennessey headed to Ashfall sometime last April. After that, nothing. No onward tickets, no mentions in merchant ledgers, no roadside grave markers reported by post runners.

Dust rose under hooves and hung still in the air as he entered town. He slowed with a not to woman in a mulberry dress, sat in a rocking chair on the porch of a shotgun duplex. She tracked his approach, one hand working a lacy fan, the other hanging limp from her chair’s rest. She watched him like a storm cloud rolling in; judging whether it be best to go inside.

Peck tied his horse to the hitching post. The sign read Little Drop of Poison in flaking white paint. He pushed through the saloon doors as creaking hinges announced his arrival.

The barkeep polished a glass with a worn rag, his sleeves rolled cleanly to his elbows. Two men sat at separate tables, ignoring each other. The room was large and under-lit.

“Afternoon,” the barkeep said. “Whiskey?”

“Water first. Then we’ll see.” Peck took a stool.

“Got business in town or passin’ through?” The barkeep asked, ladling water from a barrel.

“Looking for someone, said to have come through this past April. Colm Hennessey. Heard of him?”

The barkeep slid the water to Peck. “Hennessey? Sure, I remember him. Tall fellow, reddish hair? He came through. Had a drink or two, then headed south I believe. Toward Reno, or was it Carson City… I don’t remember exactly.”

“When in April did he come through?”

“Middle of the month. Hard to pin it closer than that.”

“Was he alone?”

“Far as I saw.”

Peck drank the water and set the glass on the bar. He pulled his tobacco pouch from his vest pocket and rolled a cigarette, taking his time. “Town’s quiet for its size.”

“We had… Tremor worried some folks. The skittish ones packed up and left. Some of us stayed.” He shrugged.

“A tremor?”

“Just a tremor. But after the news of what happened in San Francisco, people get spooked.”

Peck struck a match on the underside of the bar and lit the cigarette. He blew a trail of smoke toward the ceiling as he looked around. Twelve tables, only two occupied. A bar long enough for twenty men shoulder to shoulder.

“Anyone else in town who might remember Hennessey?”

The barkeep thought for a moment. “Can’t think of anyone. Like I said, he moved on quick.” He held the glass up to the light. “There ain’t much daylight left, Marshal. Sun sets quick in the valley and the road out gets rough after dark.”

Peck stared at the barkeep too long. He dropped a silver half-dollar on the counter and stepped back into the heat.

At the terminus of the main street sat Calvary Baptist Church like a bleached white tooth in a mouth of rotted stumps. Peck paused at the threshold.Its obscene newness stood out against the rest of the town. The timber was pale, clean-cut, weeping amber sap that smelled cloyingly of cedar and turpentine. It wasn’t weathered by the sun and wind yet. A rebuilt chapel meant recent disaster.

I think I’m going to die in this, place.

He dismissed the thought, dropped his cigarette, and ground it out with his boot before pulling the heavy door open. Inside, a woman knelt near a candle laden altar topped with a ten foot tall cross. The space was filled with pillared light filtered through high windows.

“Ma’am. Name’s Peck. U.S. Marshal. I’m looking into the whereabouts of a Colm Hennessey. Came through this past April.”

“You should leave town, Marshal,” she said.

“Pardon?”

“I said you should leave. Before dark.” She rose stiffly, smoothing the black fabric of her prairie dress.

“I heard. Roads rough after dark. But, I was asking about Colm Hennessey. Did you see him leave town?”

“What happened to Mr. Hennessey was unfortunate. But you won’t undo it by asking. And if you keep asking, you might find people who’d sooner bury a question than answer it.”

“Is that a threat, ma’am?” He rested a hand on the Smith & Wesson sidearm.

“Just the counsel of an old woman.” Her gaze followed his hand before turning back to her candles. “Besides, it’s the stranger who came to Ashfall before Mr. Hennessey that you should really be looking for.”

“Go on.”

“A stranger came to the old church. He brought a velvet bag with him, and poured it out onto the floor. Small bones. Animal bones, I think. He read them like a minister reads scripture. Announced the earth would soon open and swallow Ashfall whole.”

“A con man’s trick. To scare the collection plate full.”

“No.” She said. “He didn’t take our money.” Peck heard a pop from somewhere in her vertebrae as she turned to him again. “If a man tells you your house is on fire, do you not believe him and run? And we felt it. Something deep within the ground shook, and trembled the floorboards. Even the dogs howled at its rumbling.”

“What happened next?”

She laughed. “He said he could help us. Save us, he said. It wouldn’t cost much.” She stared at the crucifix before her, and Peck waited.

She moved a hand to her throat.

“I… don’t know… that we were ever in danger,” she said quietly. “I think he made us… The ground never shook before he arrived. The fear started with him. He brought the devil into Ashfall. We rebuilt this church because we thought if the walls were new, it would feel like it used to. Rid us of his taint.”

“Ma’am. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but, did Colm Hennessey leave this town alive?”

“He took Mr. Hennessey to the pasture.”

“Who? The Stranger?”

“We all followed. And… I don’t think anyone left that night. Not really.”

“But did he leave alive?”

“I light these candles every morning. Every morning I think today it might feel different. Like the Lord Almighty is in here again.”

“Ma’am, That’s not what I asked.”

“I know what you asked!” She snapped, the impotent candle light flickered before her. “And I’m telling you that what happened to Mr. Hennessey could happen to any outside who stays past dark. Now go.”

“Ma’am—”

“Go!”

Peck backed through the chapel and out into the hellish heat. He stood on the steps, letting his eyes adjust. The fate of Hennessey looked increasingly bleak.

I think I’m going to die, in this, place.

He shook the thought free again and stepped into the street. A grizzled man sitting by the Overbury General Store whistled to him.

“Hey Podnah, you askin’ after Hennessey?” The old man called from shade of the awning.

“Word travels fast.”

“Sound carries when ain’t nobody makin’ any.” The old man spit into a brass spittoon and gestured to the bench beside him. “Sit down now. Name’s Harlan. I’ll save ya the trouble of workin’ ‘round to it. I was there the night Hennessey came through. He was lookin’ for a place to hold up for the night. On his way to Reno, he said.”

Peck sat next to him. “Did something happen to Hennessey?”

“The prospector—”

“The preacher?”

Harlan shook his head. “Wasn’t no preacher. Just the prospector come in off the road. He showed up at a town meetin’, said the ground was gonna open up and swallow us whole.”

“And it was the bones that told him this?”

“Didn’t say nothin’ about no bones. He was goin’ on about a fault runnin’ through town. Swung a pendulum over a survey map, showed us right where it ran. Said he’d seen what a fault does to a town. Said we was all in grave—” The old man choked, sending him into a coughing fit. He produced a kerchief from his vest pocket. After folding something yellow inside, he continued. “Said we was in grave danger. Imminent, he said. God Almighty sent him to help us in our hour of need.”

“And his price for helping you?”

“Said a sinner was comin’ ‘round the mountain by sunset. And he could save us if we done what the Lord asked of us.”

“You’re saying he asked you to kill a man.”

“He said it’d save the town. One man could save two hundred if we heeded God as Abraham had.”

“You killed a man to save yourselves from something you can’t prove was even coming.”

Harlan’s jaw bulged, but the anger that rose fell away before he spoke.

“I felt the ground move, Marshal. Whatever devil was comin’ from under us, it passed us right by. I felt the whole town rumble. Rattled the floorboards of the church. We all felt it and you wasn’t there. You didn’t feel what we felt. Don’t sit there and tell folk who survived they was wrong for survivin’!” Harlan said before falling victim to another coughing spell.

“I meant no offense, Harlan. I’m trying to get to the bottom of what exactly happened to Colm Hennessey.” Peck offered Harlan a fresh kerchief.

“I suppose you can guess,” Harlan sputtered between coughs, accepting the kerchief.

“And the Stranger?”

“Gone by morning. Cart and all,” Harlan said, offering Peck his kerchief back.

Peck shook his head. “Keep it. So that’s it? A stranger wanders in, orchestrates a blood ritual, then vanishes by dawn?”

Harlan shrugged as he shoved the kerchief into his vest pocket.

“And you believe it worked?” Peck asked.

“I do.”

“Because you felt it pass by?”

“Because of San Francisco,” Harlan said. “April eighteenth. The next mornin’. The city near fell into the ocean. Three thousand dead, accordin’ to the post rider.”

“A coincidence.”

Harlan nodded slowly, “Must be. And even if it ain’t, what then? Ain’t no court hears a case like that. We didn’t send the shaking to San Francisco. I ain’t sayin’ I believe it. I ain’t daft. But somethin’ moved from under us, and the next mornin’ it went somewhere else, and San Francisco had a rough go of it. I’ll carry that ‘till it kills me. Which at this rate—” He seized with another coughing fit. “Won’t be long.”

Peck sat with Harlan in silence.

I think, I’m going to die, in this, place.

He clapped his knees and forced himself to stand and walked back toward his horse.

He was checking the cinch on his saddle when movement caught his eye. Across the street a tall man with reddish hair was moving toward the thin line of scrub trees and junipers beyond the church.

“Hey!” Peck called out. “Hey — Hennessey!”

The man didn’t turn. He passed behind the chapel disappearing into the scrub.

Peck followed on foot. He pushed through the junipers, branches scratching at his sleeves. The footpath narrowed before opening into a clearing.

The man was gone.

The spot grew unusually green. Everything around it—the scrub, the rock, the hard-packed dirt—was bleached pale by months of desert sun. But the clearing was lush and vibrant. Thick grass pushed from the earth and wildflowers crowded the center in dense clusters of color. If there had been any sign of water, he’d have thought it an oasis.

A girl sat in the grass near a shallow stone trough playing with a ragged doll. She appeared twelve, maybe thirteen. She turned the doll toward him first, then looked up at him without surprise.

“Did a man just come through here?” Peck asked, still scanning the tree line for signs of Hennessey. “Tall fellow, red hair?”

She shook her head, golden locks bouncing into her face.

Peck stood at the edge of the clearing, catching his breath. The grass grew nearly to his knees. In the desert. In July. The grass around the trough grew the tallest, leaning inward like livestock crowding feed.

“You’re looking for Mr. Hennessey?” The girl asked.

“Did you see him?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you said you hadn’t see anyone come through here?”

“No one has. Not today anyway. But you said you was looking for someone with red hair. Mr. Hennessey had red hair. He was nice. He gave me a penny and told me to buy something sweet. You could too, if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.” She climbed to her feet, bits of grass and twig dangling down the front of her purple dress.

“Did you spend a lot of time with Mr. Hennessey?”

“He came into the store asking where everyone was” She said, pausing to pick bits of grass from her dress.

“Was that the last time you saw him?”

“No,” She said. “Later, I saw everyone leavin’ the church. He was walking with the stranger and I followed them here. I wasn’t supposed to leave the store, but I thought they might be having a party.”

“Here? They came here?”

“Yes.” She pointed at the trough. “That’s where the fire was. But it was purple, like my dress.” She pinched the fabric and twirled, the pastel purple dress ruffling around her. “And the stranger was dancing while while Mr. Hennessey was writing. He sat on a stool right there, by the fire, and his hand was moving but his eyes were closed.”

Peck crouched beside the trough. The blackened inside rubbed away under his thumb, slick and oily and sulfurous. He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his trousers.

“Writing what?” He asked.

“I couldn’t see. But his hand kept going. Even after they took the paper from him. Writing and writing, pages and pages.” She frowned. “After that my mother found me and pulled me away.”

“What did he look like, the Stranger?”

“Old and thin. He had rings on all his fingers, lots of them, and his coat had things sewn into it. Little pouches and pockets. And a tall hat, like Pa wears to the bank.”

“Mama says the stranger was the devil. She says he tested us and we failed.” She focused on her doll, rocking on her heels. “Do you think that’s true?”

“What does your Pa say?”

“Pa says there was no stranger. He said everyone did what they did and are making up tall tales about it after.” She pulled a blade of grass from her dolls hair and twisted it in her fingers. “I saw him, though. And my father was standing right there. He saw too. But he says there was nobody.” She let the grass fall. “Why would my father lie about what he saw? He never lets me lie.”

“I don’t know.”

Peck scanned the area. No bones. No blood. No sign of Hennessey. Just green and bloom.

“We should go. I’m not supposed to stay out after dark.”

Peck didn’t answer but looked out above the grove. The sun touched the ridge. He hadn’t noticed how cool the place felt in the stretched shadows of the junipers.

He stood and the two began making their way through the dense scrub brush.

I think, I’m going to die, in this place.

Once clear, the girl ran toward the general store without looking back. Peck walked to his horse. The sun had dropped behind the western ridge and the light was bleeding out of the valley. A man on the chapel steps looked up from his whittling as Peck passed. He didn’t say anything, but he stood, turning the knife in his hand.

Peck mounted and turned his horse toward the grade. Every store front had eyes in it now, or seemed to. Figures standing on porches. Silhouettes in windows. He clicked his tongue and walked his horse forward, focusing on the road and the rim of the valley beyond it.

Nobody followed. Nobody called out. The town just watched him go. He held the horse to a walk until he cleared the last building. Then he kicked and didn’t stop.

The road climbed and the town shrank below him. Whatever happened to Hennessey, Peck knew he didn’t make it out of Ashfall alive.

One man dead. Maybe. Three thousand dead in San Francisco, certainly. Two hundred saved in Ashfall? Possibly. The numbers should add up to something. If Hennessey had been murdered, a crime was committed. Plain and simple. But there was no body. No blood. No evidence. Just a missing man and a strange story. Hennessey’s sister deserved more than that.

He encouraged he horse faster, wind whipping at his face.

The stranger, though. He’d left tracks. A painted wagon. Rings on every finger. A man like that gets remembered as he passes through. Especially one inspiring towns to murder. Finding him might be the best justice he could manage.

Peck rode until the thoughts went quiet.

I think I’m going to die in this place.