Pitchfork Annie

26

The next morning, Annie remained silent, not engaging in any discourse at all and Henry considered he had pushed too far the night before. Knowing the truth about Annie, whether she was Annabelle, was important. It gave context to her desire to dole out justice to those that had taken the Potter family from the world. It would connect her to that tragic, avoidable event. As it stood, a mysterious stranger taking on the burden left too many questions unanswered.

The Drifters within the town continued to mill about, and it took a deal of care and delicacy to saddle the horses and lead them out of the gates without drawing attention to themselves. Once outside, Annie closed the gates and used paint and a brush, found in the livery, to write upon those gates, giving warning for any unwary travellers.

"ALL DEAD."

A more morose message Henry could not imagine. Even as they rode away, heading west, Henry continued to look back toward the town, wondering whether anyone would clear it of those voracious creatures and giving the town a new lease of life, or whether it would stand as a testament to the state of the world. A graveyard filled by the restless corpses that may once have called the town home. For now, Simmons had become lost. Henry did not wish it to become forgotten.

He had finally written something, words tumbling from his mind. Sitting upon the cot, the flickering lights of the lamps and candles giving no comfort, he had attempted to record what he had seen, scratching out everything he wrote more than once. No matter what words he used, he doubted he could give the events justice. His words incomparable to the horrors he had witnessed. Annie had slept. The sleep of the just, or the dreamless sleep of someone who cared only for vengeance, Henry could not imagine.

Without knowing exactly where Shipton's ranch lay, he could not begin to guess how long it would take to reach the place. The Santa Maria Mountains reached into a sky that had become clouded and overcast, as though a barrier prevented any conquering those rugged slopes from reaching the glory of the Heavens. The plains of Williamson's Valley stretched out before them like a parchment awaiting a pen to record the peaks and troughs of the landscape.

They soon reached a creek that stretched back toward those mountains and, on the other side, Henry saw a large herd of Drifters. Too far for them to sense Henry and Annie, but still far too close for Henry to find any comfort. They moved around, bumping into one another, swapping positions, making it difficult for Henry to count, but he estimated upwards of four score of the rotting, mobile corpses.

Further along, they had to cross the creek to avoid another large herd, causing Henry to wonder whether the evil of the man they hunted had some way of drawing evil to him. Of course, that was not possible, Henry's mind playing tricks upon him, causing him to ascribe supernatural means to a simple, post-Starfall, natural fact. The Drifters congregated. They migrated in search of the living upon whom they could feed. No other reason played a part in their actions. No sinister play by evil men.

Of course, it now appeared that Arthur Shipton could no longer be described as a man if Annie's thoughts were correct. Yet, Henry could not say for certain that she was. They had found nothing that pointed to Shipton being the cause of the massacre at the church in Simmons. Nothing to show that the man had ever entered the town, let alone transformed into a Murcie. Only Annie's intuition made that claim and only the words of one, vile individual even mentioned Shipton living in these parts.

"Is it possible that Hennessy lied?" Not for the first time, Henry adjusted the scythe tucked in his belt. What with that and the revolver, he had little space left to breathe. "Perhaps he remained loyal to Shipton? Sending you this way in the knowledge of Simmons' loss? Perhaps he hoped the Drifters within the town would put an end to you?"