Flash! Fiction 3 by Peter McMillan - HTML preview

21

A Drifter's Tale

Two drifters huddled by their campfire, just down a piece from the railroad bed. Johnny, a scrawny, restless kid not more than 18, and Sam, a shrunken head on a lumbering, creaking six-foot-five-inch frame.

No more trains til morning, and this was a familiar stop, on the county line between two small towns. To the east was the sheriff neither wanted to tangle with again. A couple of years back, they'd been rousted out of an old widow's barn, robbed, bound in ropes, and dumped in a livestock car filled with hogs. The sheriff hadn't actually taken part, but he made no effort to discourage his boys.

Best to get on the other side of Calhoun County as quickly as possible. Tonight, on the county line, it was safe enough but still a good idea to keep the fire low and out of sight.

They were down to one can of beans. That was dinner and breakfast and probably lunch. There wouldn't be any more hunting til they got past the sheriff and his boys.

Overhead, the new moon made the stars stand out brilliantly against the blackness, and though it wasn't overly cold if you were sheltered from the wind, you still wanted a fire nearby to help you get to sleep, especially if you were under the weather like Sam was.

It was Johnny that saw it.

"See that, Sam? That's the first shootin star I seen since August— I think it was August. Must've been when we was comin into Okla-homa City."