I’m not usually one for flash fiction challenges, but – for some reason – this one just caught my fancy. This is one of Chuck Wendig’s weekly challenges, posted over at TerribleMinds. The rules are simple: Write the first part of a story, up to 500 words, but don’t finish it. The idea is to let someone else finish it.
So, here’s the first half of my story. I’m looking forward to seeing what someone does with the second half!
A silence as oppressive as the summer heat descended as the last echoes of the gunshot fled through the alleys of Brimstone and into the surrounding plain. It lasted but a moment before Constance’s wail cut the air, rebounding off of the picture windows along the front of the Rusty Spur to die in the falling dust. Constance cradled Jeb’s head in her lap, dark blood pooling in the dirt around her knees, her falling tears cutting streaks through the grime on his lifeless face.
Acker was unreadable, his face as still as Jebediah’s. Abigail followed his stony gaze to the outskirts of town, where a cloud of brown erupted from the trail at the feet of Cullum’s horse. Horse and rider crested the rise to the north, and disappeared beyond. By the time Abby had turned back to Acker, he was gone, the front door of the sheriff’s station swinging on its hinges.
When she entered, Acker was standing behind his desk, his service pistol unbelted and set atop it. A deep breath rose in his chest as his fingers emerged from his pocket with a small key. He bent to the drawer at the bottom of his desk and slipped the key into the lock that hadn’t seen its mate in three long years. The drawer slid open as if freshly greased, without a hitch.
“What’re you thinking right now?” Abigail asked.
Acker came upright silently, already fastening his old gunbelt in place. The afternoon sun gleamed off of the .45 Long Colt shells around his hips, and the long-barreled 1860 Army Conversion hung heavy at his thigh. He tied it off and ran the heel of his hand along the grip, satisfied with the placement.
“Acker Cambridge,” Abigail said, failing to quell the waver in her voice. “You think about this. You think hard.”
Acker’s downcast eyes never met Abby’s fierce gaze. Without responding, he reached up and thumbed the silver star from his breast. The world around them slowed to a crawl, and the sound of the star on the wooden desktop echoed like the clang of a jail cell slammed shut.
“Acker…” Abigail’s breath caught and her hands began to tremble. “Acker, no…”
His eyes lingered on the star and his fingertips traced the raised letters on its surface. Once his fingers lifted from those cold metal words, Abigail knew there was nothing left for him in Brimstone, and no turning back.
“What’re you gonna do?” she asked.
Acker raised his eyes, a visage of vengeance incarnate. “I’m gonna find him, and cut him down.” he said. “And, by God, I’ll cut down every sorry soul that stands between us.”
