Chapter 11
Caleb fell to his knees at the edge of the gaping sinkhole, staring down into the pitch-black void where the soldier had vanished. The smell of sulfur and damp river mud drifted up from the depths, stinging his eyes. He pressed his palms flat against the sun-baked dirt, his shoulders shaking with a mixture of exhaustion and profound, crushing guilt.
“I didn't ask for this badge,” Caleb whispered to the empty air, his voice breaking. “I was just trying to survive the war.”
A soft patter of bare feet approached him from behind. He didn't turn around; he could feel the chilling presence of the two sisters looming over him like twin executioners.
“Nobody asks for it,” the older sister said, her tone surprisingly gentle, almost maternal, which made it feel infinitely more disturbing coming from a five-year-old child. “You just earn it when you decide who lives and who gets left behind in the smoke.”
Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, flashing back to the burning church at Red River—the screams, the suffocating heat, and the moment he let go of Jonah’s hand to save his own skin. The guilt had been his constant companion for years, driving him across barren wastes until it finally led him right to the doorstep of the Lucky Star Saloon.
“I left him,” Caleb confessed, the words tearing out of his throat like jagged glass. “I let go.”
“And now you hold the door for everyone else who did the same,” the younger sister added, resting her small, cold hand on his heaving shoulder.
Suddenly, the gaping sinkhole in the street began to seal itself shut. The dirt rushed back together like closing wound, burying the soldier and his horse beneath tons of packed earth until the street was flat and smooth once more. The desert sun seemed to dim, casting long, bruised purple shadows across the abandoned wooden buildings.
Caleb opened his eyes and stood up slowly, brushing the dust from his knees. He looked down the empty road toward the horizon, where a thick, unnatural fog was beginning to roll in, swallowing the cacti and the distant hills.
“What happens when the town fills up?” Caleb asked, turning to face the two sisters.
The older sister smiled—a thin, sad, knowing smile that didn't reach her glassy eyes.
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“It never fills up,” she replied softly. “There’s always another sinner riding down the trail.”
Before Caleb could speak another word, a distant, rhythmic sound echoed through the fog—the steady, heavy trample of dozens of horses approaching all at once.
