Emerald Desert

Emerald Desert

Trevor Prescot

Sheriff Brass pushed through the Saloon doors. The ting of his spurs echoed throughout the empty room. He lifted his hat with his thumb and surveyed the tables.

Sitting at the table in the corner was Joel Tate, the bartender. His face was solemn in the moonlight. A glass of fine whiskey sat beside his hand; beside that, a pair of shot glasses.

Brass crossed the room and took a seat beside the man. Theirs were the only two seats available; all of the others were upended neatly on the surrounding tables. Without a word, Tate lifted the whiskey bottle and tipped it back and forth. Brass nodded, and Tate filled the glasses. Brass picked his up, brought it to his lips, and paused.

“You hear something?”

Tate shook his head. “Ain’t no one here. I checked a few minutes ago.”

Frowning, Brass tipped the glass back and rubbed his lips with the back of his hand. “So. What’s so important that you gotta be meetin’ me in the middle of the damn night?”

Tate set the glass down with a hard, hollow crack. “It’s Lou.”

Lou. Brass had been right, or close to it. He figured he’d say Lou, or Debby, or Margaret or Niles.

“What about ‘im?”

“He’s actin’ strange. Like Vince last week. And James before that. And Allison before that.” Tate leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Sheriff, what’s goin’ on around here?”

Brass hesitated, reaching into his pocket for a pack of tobacco. He dropped a chunk into his mouth, chewed it, and spit. “Damned if I know.”

“You know something,” Tate pressed. “All night long, people been askin’ each other: what’s going on? The response is always the same: I don’t know, ask the Sheriff. So, I’m askin’ you. What’s going on?”

Brass leaned forward too, leaving their noses only inches apart. “I’m askin’ you to be smart here, Tate. Don’t go blabbin’ to the whole town, y’hear?”

“Lips are sealed.”

“The fact of the matter is, I don’t know what’s goin' on. We found Allison wandering around by the corral at around two in the mornin’. She didn’t know what she was doin’, or how she got there. We dropped her off with her family, and the next day, Doctor Bartlett’s doin’ a house call. He can’t find nothing wrong with her, neither.”

“What about the others?”

“Same story. Always wandering the town late at night. Seem to be sleepwalkin’ but they never wake up. Bartlett’s stumped. He’s been watchin’ James twentee-four-seven for the last two weeks, but he can’t figure out what’s wrong. It’s like these people’re just losing their minds, or somethin’. Maybe a new kinda flu goin’ around.”

Tate opened his mouth to say something, but the words got caught in his throat. He snapped his head to the side. That time, he heard it too.

“You sure you checked the whole Saloon?”

“Sure I did,” Tate said hurriedly. “Anyway, I don’t think it’s the flu. I think it’s something else. I seen ‘em out there, white as ghosts, wandering the streets in the middle of the night. I think it’s ghosts, Sheriff, coming out of Wilson’s Mine. All this started happening after the collapse.”

Brass chuckled. “It ain’t ghosts. Nobody died when the mine collapsed.”

Tate sighed heavily. “All right, how 'bout this: there are rumors that there’s something out there. Out in the desert. Something that glows green at night. You can see it all the way from here.”

“Oh yeah?” Brass rose to his feet. “Which direction?”

“East.”

Brass headed over to the window and peered out across the desert. A great big arc of green light, just barely visible, pulsed in the distance. He turned back to Tate. “Could be.”

“They say it fell out of the sky. What are you gonna do about it, Sheriff?”

Brass spit again. “We’ll wait here tonight. If Lou ain’t back by dawn, we’ll check out your green light.”



* * *

A long cloud of billowing dust followed the posse.

The gang was all here—Tate, Jack Stritt, Bartlett, Clyde Sparrow, and Henry Hennisey. Colts, Smith & Wessons, and Winchesters glinted in the arcing glow of the rising sun.

“What do you think we’ll find out here?” Bartlett asked, shouting over the thunderous roar of hooves.

Brass shrugged. “Maybe somethin’, maybe nothin’.” He directed the posse up over a ridge. “At the very least—”

The sentence went unfinished. As they cleared the ridge and Juniper Valley opened up before them, all eyes fell on the crater. It was maybe a mile in diameter, with a tiny emerald-colored object sitting in the center. Despite its size, the object gave off a bright green glow.

As they galloped down the ridge, Brass caught glimpse of someone standing at the edge of the crater.

“Lou? Is that Lou?” He heard Tate shout.

“Whoa,” Brass called to his horse. He slowed down and trotted over to Lou.

“Lou? What’re you doin’ out here? You been out here all night?” He asked.

Lou turned his gaze up to him. “Yes.” He had that strange, sleepy tone in his voice.

“What’s that green thing out there?” He nodded toward the center of the crater.

“We don’t know. It fell from the sky.”

Brass furrowed his brow. “How d’ya know that?”

Lou turned his eyes to Tate. “My brother told me.”

His hand hanging near the grip of his Peacemaker, the Sheriff turned to Tate. “Tate? What do you know about this?”

“Just some rumors," he answered quietly. "It doesn’t really matter now. Even if I tell you, you won’t remember in an hour.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…all I had to do was get you close enough.”

Something on Brass’ backside felt hot. He turned around, and saw that the green light had become blinding.

Then, he saw black.



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ID: 1843172   (Rated: 13+) Wilson's Gemstone  There are many precious things waiting to be found in Wilson's Mine... by Trevor Prescott

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