Shadows of the Past

Part 1

A ferocious sandstorm blew around the barren Nickto desert. The high pitched scream of the wind echoed across the desolate landscape. A song of madness, voiced by the very demons of hell. Wisps of sand whipped themselves into small whirlwinds, each one separate to itself, a reflection of the nature of the world and all those in it; each person caught up in their own whirlwind of chaos.

Amidst the roaring wind and blanket of sand stumbled Manuel Rodriguez. A small stocky fellow, with sunken eyes and greasy black hair that poked out from underneath his brown hat and hung loose just above his deep, dark eyebrows in an uneven messy fringe. His jet black beard surrounded his dry lips which had peeled terribly from the energy sapping heat of the previous day. This heat had taken the life of his beloved horse, Chalo, yesterday. Now he was on foot and alone. He had not eaten for four days and the last of his water had run out last night. Now he had nothing, expect his gun. He did not know who the stranger was who had been hunting him for the last four days. This stranger had never made his intention clear. But, Rodriguez was sure he had lost him last night.

The sound of the howling wind was interrupted by the whizz of a bullet that flew above Rodriguez's head. He whipped around, but could not make out any shape in the yellow haze of the sandstorm. Rodriguez stumbled forward and then felt himself tumbling down a bank of sand. He reached the levelled out plain at the bottom and sat up and shook his head to shake off the excess of sand in his ears, mouth and eyes. He blinked and saw a shape not far from where he sat. He rubbed his eyes and it become clearer. A small hut was around 50 feet ahead. A haven that stood proud and isolated in the endless plains of dunes and sand banks. Rodriguez's heart pounded a few positive beats. Then the hairs on his neck pricked up. He turned back and saw the shadow of the stranger hovering at the top of the bank. A hungry hawk ready to swoop. Rodriguez leapt to his feet and headed towards the hut.

The stranger stomped his way down the bank. His tall slender figure negotiated the steep climb without any sense of imbalance. His white hat was perched on his head and pulled down so low it covered his eyes and only exposed the prominent nose and full lips. His jaw was strong and jutted out like statement to the world that he was a man to be feared. He headed towards Rodriguez and the hut.

Rodriguez reached the hut, wrenched the door open and dove inside, pulling the door closed behind him. He tumbled along the floor and quickly propped himself up against the wall facing the door. He withdrew his gun from his holster and pointed it at the door. This time he had the upper hand. When that stranger came in, Rodriguez would shoot him right between the eyes. From his experience, death had to be administered quickly.

The stranger reached the hut and then stopped. The desert wind swirled around him, as if afraid to touch this fearsome figure. He walked toward the door, but then stopped. A pause of contemplation. A slight movement of his eyes was visible in the dark shadow cast by the brim of his hat.

Rodriguez fixed his eyes on the door. Beads of sweat trickled down his face and navigated their way through the clumps of his black beard. He wiped away the perspiration from his face. He thought for a moment about the stranger's face and the features of his shadowy face began to take Rodriguez back in time. Through the shady mists of his past to a time when was a soldier in the Mexican Army. The stranger's face began to emerge in his mind's eye. The stranger was a boy he had met many years ago. He knew where he had seen him before. He knew what he and the others had done to the boy's family. He knew why he was after him. Rodriguez stiffened and then a steely determination formed across his face. He was not going to die here. Not now and not this way.

The handle of the door began to turn, ever so slowly. Rodriguez pointed the gun at about chest height in the door. The latch clicked and the door swung open. Rodriguez squeezed his trigger and fired into the open door, but no-one was there. On the floor, on his belly, was the stranger. He aimed precisely and shot Rodriguez's arm and second shot hit the gun. The gun flew away from Rodriguez's desperate grip and into the corner of the hut. Out of reach and out of use. Rodriguez was frozen.

The Stranger got to his feet and kept the muzzle of his gun trained on Rodriguez. He removed his white hat and revealed all of his features. His right cheek was scarred from top to bottom. The stranger smiled which made the scar all then more menacing. Rodriguez gazed at the stranger and he remembered how he had got the scar. It was from Rodriguez's own hand.

"Pleased to meet you again, Mister Rodriguez."

"What is it you want? I have money, I can get it for you."

"I think you know this not about money. This is about you did back in Guadalajara and the whereabouts of Forrest Carter."

Rodriguez feigned confusion. "Forrest, who?"

The stranger's face twitched in annoyance and he aimed at Rodriguez's leg and fired a bullet into his shin. Rodriguez squealed in agony. "Let us not waste time, Mister Rodriguez. Where is Forrest Carter?" the stranger said calmly.

"I don't know." Rodriguez pleaded, desperation in his face.

"Then you are of no use to me." The stranger replied without any hint of emotion.

The stranger raised his gun to Rodriguez's head and pulled the trigger. A haunting quiet descended in the hut. The stranger moved forward to the body of Rodriguez. He crouched down and rummaged through the pockets of the dead man. He found something and pulled out a brown leather bound note book. The Stranger snapped off the band around it and began leafing through it. He stopped on one age and raised on his eyebrows. He had found what he was looking for. He got to his feet and headed to the open door of the hut. A blast of wind blew into the hut. The stranger headed out into the maelstrom of the desert as the sandstorm increased its grip around the neck of calm and all was still chaos.