Vash had just began scouring the town when he heard the gunshot off in the distance. Immediately he knew where the gun had been fired and his eyes shot up and across the desert to the jutting bedrock just beyond the town’s border. Even his eagle eyes could not define what was happening in the early morning light, but the knowledge that Meryl had not brought a firearm with her sent a shiver of panic across his skin.
As he took his first step in the promontory’s direction, another shot sounded, echoing across the valley and through the town. He began to run, the silence that followed the second shot allowing his mind to whirl with possibilities. So many scenarios ran through his head, none of them ending happily.
As he ran, the last shot – the third shot – pierced his thoughts and left his mind blank, as though he himself had been struck by the bullet. But he didn’t stop running. His legs carried him while his mind reeled, acting on instinct. Meryl was in danger and he had to help her.
As he ran, new, darker thoughts crept into his consciousness. The first two shots were rapidly fired – either defensive or aggressive; he couldn’t be sure which – but the third shot. . . . That was a bullet designed to execute. There could be no other explanation.
*
Am I dead? she thought, as the sound of the gun firing echoed and faded. The pain in her side told her she was not, and she slowly opened her eyes, seeing the lightening sky still hanging above her as dawn broke across the desert. Painfully, she sat up.
He was gone. Disappeared into the endless desert from whence he had appeared so randomly. It occurred to Meryl that she couldn’t hear in her right ear and she turned to look at the ground where she had lain. A dark circle of gunpowder residue covered the dirt and sand beside where her head had rested, punctuated by the crushed bullet imbedded in the center of the ring of blackened earth. For the first time, she noticed the bitter smell biting at her nostrils and rubbed her nose to keep from sneezing. When she pulled her hand away, she saw it was smudged with the dark residue. It reminded her how close to her he had fired, and hot tears began to leak from her eyes. She rubbed them away with her sleeve as they slipped down her cheeks, staining the white fabric with the residue as well. Crying in earnest now, she used the salty tears and her sleeve to try to clean her face of the gunpowder residue, not wanting to answer uncomfortable questions when she got back to the house she shared with Milly, Vash, and the gunman’s catatonic brother.
When she finally had her crying under control, she pulled herself to her feet and kicked dirt and sand over the juxtaposed blood and gunpowder stains. She pressed her right hand under her vest and against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding as she made her way slowly down the hill and back to town.
The going was slow. Every time she breathed, her ribcage expanded slightly, tugging at the gash between her ribs, so to avoid that pain, she only took small, slow breaths. Breathing that way, however, meant she couldn’t walk very fast.
Halfway down the hill, she saw Vash running toward her and steeled herself for his approach. She removed her hand from her wound and fisted it, trying to hide the blood that covered he palm. Meanwhile she held her vest over the injury with her left arm at her side. It was a feeble attempt to hide her wound, she knew, but she hoped at the very least he would pick up on the fact that she didn’t want to talk about it.
*
He smelled her blood before he saw her walking toward him. When she finally did enter his field of vision, he sighed with his entire being, relieved beyond words to see her alive, let alone up and walking in his direction. He could hear his heart still beating wildly in his chest, but the adrenaline was already beginning to ebb and his limbs began to feel heavy.
As he drew closer, his attention centered on her clothing. Vash slowed his pace, coming to a stop a few yarz from her. He had never seen her in anything other than her white dress and blue tights, but now she stood before him in an outfit he hadn’t known she owned. She wore leather pants; common among peripatetic herders and vagrants because of their imperviousness to sand, but strange and foreign-looking on Meryl’s legs. Instead of her all-concealing mantle, her torso was simply garbed in a white long sleeved shirt and thin leather vest.
It wasn’t just her clothing that was different, though. Her whole demeanor was abnormal to him – the way she carried herself had changed. She seemed broken somehow; somewhat less herself than she had been the previous day. Something happened up on that cliff. He didn’t know what, but it had to have been big.
He could tell she was hiding her injury, trying to walk normally, and was clenching her jaw against the pain. His eyes drifted to her left side, lingering on the spot she shielded gently with her arm.
“What happened?” he asked her simply. She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes expressionless. Then, without explanation, she started walking again, trudging right past him. He turned and walked with her, refusing to let up. “Who were you fighting? Why were you fighting?”
She just kept walking, apparently ignoring him and Vash followed reluctantly but silently.
*
Milly watched as the sun rose on the town and people around her began their morning rituals. She had dressed hurriedly that morning, only to end up waiting on the porch as the minutes crept by at a snail’s pace. Vash had left looking for Meryl nearly an hour ago, and still there was no sign of either the infamous Humanoid Typhoon or Derringer Meryl. Anxiously, Milly shifted her position in the rocking chair, thinking that she couldn’t wait much longer and resolving to head out and help search if they didn’t return soon.
She didn’t get the chance to follow through on her promise to herself though, as a few minutes later she saw the pair walking slowly down the street toward the house the three of them shared. Milly jumped up, ecstatic to see them both healthy, and ran down the street to meet them.
“Ma’am!” she shouted in greeting, slowing to a stop in front of Vash and Meryl. “Ma’am! Thank God you’re OK! I was so worried about you! What are you wearing?”
*
“Milly!” Meryl forced herself to smile at her subordinate, struggling to maintain a facade of normality. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you going to be late for work?”
“Ma’am?” Milly asked confusedly. “Are you alright? You left so early in the morning. And you didn’t leave a note or anything. We were worried about you.”
“Well as you can see, I’m fine.” She carefully placed her hand on Milly’s shoulder, trying to be reassuring. “You go ahead and go to work. I’ve got to get ready too, you know.”
“R-right.” Milly exchanged a hesitant glance with Vash, then – almost unwillingly – left the pair alone in the middle of the street to do as Meryl had instructed her.
*
Vash wanted to know what Meryl was hiding, but realized she would not respond to interrogation. Instead, he continued to walk beside her as she headed for the house, willing to wait for her to open up to him. He opened the door for her, and she walked into the house silently, but she couldn’t hide her labored breathing from Vash’s keen ears. His eyes followed her intently as she crossed the room, raising her right hand to the wall for support. She glowered at him over her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Her voice sounded aggravated, but Vash didn’t take it personally, knowing that she was in pain.
“Waiting for you to let me help you,” he answered simply. Meryl slowly closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath.
With effort, she responded, “If you really want to help me, come here.” He did as he was bade, immediately coming to her side, just in time to catch her as she fell forward, apparently unconscious. He easily scooped her small body into his arms and carried her to her room.
The smell of her blood was thick in his nostrils as he lay her on top of Milly’s bed and pulled the leather vest away from her open wound. Her entire side was coated with thick, dark blood, which acted like glue and adhered her clothing to her skin. As Vash carefully pulled the shirt off of her body, he was glad she had fainted, or the pain would be excruciating from the fibers that had stuck in the wound.
The gash was deep, but had missed her rib. He left her momentarily to get bandages and antiseptic to clean the wound.
*
“You’re a member of the Sirocco Brigands. You can’t just leave.” Meryl looked up from the knife she was sharpening and glared at the speaker.
“Just because nobody’s tried doesn’t mean it can’t be done.” She went back to the whet stone and continued her task just as she had done it a thousand times before.
“I’m telling you it can’t be done,” he sat down beside her, took her chin in his hand and forced her to meet his eyes. “You took an oath.”
“I was a child,” she rebutted, slapping his hand away.
“You’re still a child.”
“Then so are you!” she accused angrily. “How dare you tell me how to live my life!”
“How dare you think you’re better than the rest of us!” He stood and turned her back on her, about to stomp out of the room.
“I don’t!” she shouted back, stopping him. “I just don’t want to kill people for a living,” she explained to his back. “Is that so unreasonable?”
“We don’t kill intentionally,” he responded without facing her. “You know that.”
“We willfully risk other people’s lives,” she started, standing up, knife still in hand. “People have a right to defend themselves, but if they try it, they end up dead. I can’t live with that anymore.”
“You’ve never even killed anyone!” he shouted furiously, turning on her.
“Not yet I haven’t. And I don’t intend to,”she stated resolutely. “Not ever.”
“You couldn’t kill even if you had to,” he hissed with a glare. “How many people have I killed for you? To protect you? Every time I look in the mirror. . . .” He trailed off, still seething.
“Then come with me,” she offered, reaching out to touch his arm.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He shrugged her hand off. “This is the only thing I know. I can’t just up and leave.” He shook his head, glaring at the knife in her hand. “What do you plan to do? Sharpen knives for a living? Clean people’s guns? That’s the only thing people like us are good for out there.”
“I’ll find something. I have to.”
“You run away and I’ll never forgive you.” Meryl could tell he meant it, and it hurt her deeply to face possibly losing him forever. Without warning, he grabbed her and pulled her shirt hem up, exposing her brand. He placed his rough hand over the tattoo and stared her down with his cold, grey eyes. “You’re marked for life. That brand cannot be erased and neither can your blood. You’re one of us. Even if you run away, you can’t run from that.
“You can never be pure; never be normal; never escape your past. You’ll always be one of us. Till the day you die and God sends you to Hell with the rest of us.”
“I love you Mel,” she whispered, “but killing isn’t right. There has to be another way.”
“You’re such a coward,” he growled, releasing her roughly before stalking out of the room. Meryl let the knife fall to the floor with a clatter as a small piece of her heart broke. She buried her face in her hands and began to sob hot tears of shame and self-loathing.
*
Vash’s fingers traced the lines of the familiar mark he’d found when he had cleaned the blood from Meryl’s wound. The blue tattoo rested just beneath the bullet wound and had almost been removed by it. As the pad of his finger ran the length of the bold, roman letter S, memories nagged at him. His eyes followed the path of the viny curlicues and whorls of the knotwork that crisscrossed over, around, and behind the S without any visible beginning or ending. The ink had faded slightly, giving a clue to its age, but raising the question of Meryl’s youth when she had it penned.
He ran his fingers lightly over the white bandages that now covered her wound and let his eyes wander up to her face. He was surprised to see tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and quickly removed his hand from her bandage. Her crying didn’t stop though, and Vash imagined she must be dreaming.
He tenderly wiped the tears from her eyes and brushed her hair out of her face. With the blood finally cleaned up, a new smell wafted under his nose. The smell of gunpowder. He furrowed his brow, confused, then saw the streak of black residue on the right side of her face, hidden by her hairline. She must have tried to clean it off before she met up with him.
More disturbing was what the dark stain meant. Whoever she had been fighting had let off a shot right next to her head. He had been right when he heard the third shot and interpreted it as an execution shot. But how had she dodged? It must have been at point blank range, and she had already been wounded.
The mystery would have to wait, for at that moment someone noisily barged through the front door. Vash instinctively reached for the gun that no longer hung at his side, thinking at first it was Meryl’s faceless opponent, come to finish what he or she had started.
“Meryl?!” Vash sighed at the familiar voice. It was only Milly. “Meryl, are you OK?!” Vash stood and walked into the main room, bumping into the distraught insurance girl. “Oh! Mr. Vash! Where’s Meryl?! You didn’t let her leave, did you?!”
“She couldn’t have gone anywhere even if I had. She fainted right after you left for work.”
“Oh it’s worse than I thought! Oh Mister Vash, I was so worried!”
“How did you know she was injured?” Vash asked her, still trying to figure out what had prompted the tall insurance girl to come back for Meryl. Milly didn’t hesitate to explain it to him.
She grabbed the fabric of her shirt at the shoulder and pulled it around, craning her neck to see herself what she was showing him. The shirt had faint bloodstains where Meryl had touched her earlier.
“When I got to work and someone pointed that out to me, I knew Meryl had to be hurt. How bad is it, Mr. Vash?”
“She was only grazed by the bullet. I cleaned her up and bandaged the wound. She’s a tough girl. She’ll be fine.” At the back of his mind, he remembered that broken look on her face when he first got sight of her out in the desert and began to second guess his prognosis. Milly, however, took his words to heart and sighed deeply.
“But how did she get shot?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“I suppose she’ll tell us when she’s ready,” Milly said, looking past Vash and into the room behind him where she caught a glimpse of Meryl asleep on her bed. She then looked back at Vash, eyes bright with unshed tears. For the second time that morning, she caught the legendary gunslinger up in a bone-crushing hug. “You’re a good man, Mister Vash. I wish the rest of the world could see that.”
Abruptly, she pulled away and walked past him into the room she shared with Meryl. Apparently, she had no intention of returning to her part time job, choosing instead to remain with her unconscious friend as she convalesced.
Vash left Milly to her own devices, continuing down the hall to check on the other unconscious member of the household.
*
The wind whipped across the dunes, picking up sand as it went and pelting any misfortunate travelers not lucky enough to find shelter before the sandstorm struck. A lone figure enveloped in a sand blanket stood atop the cliff overlooking the small desert town, crouched over a bloodstain in the dirt the scouring wind had revealed. He dragged two fingers through the bloody sand and inspected the tinge on his skin.
“This wasn’t spilled very long ago,” he called out to his companions. “I give it a couple hours at the most.”
Another figure approached the first, features also completely hidden by the sand blanket in which he had wrapped himself to defend against the sandstorm. He knelt down next to his comrade and inspected the stain himself, apparently coming to the same conclusion as he nodded his agreement to the first man.
“I’ve found something,” a decidedly feminine voice announced. A third member walked up the hill and joined the other two before extending a hand from within the protective confines of her sand blanket. The other two stood and the first, apparently the leader, reached for what the woman held in her hand.
“He fired on her. These casings are from his pistol.” After inspecting them, he rattled the shell casings in his hand like dice while he thought. “This blood must be hers.”
“We can’t say that for sure,” the woman said, apparently in defense of the unnamed owner of the shell casings. “She might have brought her own weapon. That might be his blood.”
“She would never spill his blood,” the leader said definitively.
“I can’t believe he would open fire on her,” the second man announced incredulously. “I knew he had lost it, but her? That’s the last person I ever thought he would hurt.”
“We can no longer predict his actions. He has to be reigned in before innocent people become involved,” the leader declared. He pulled a letter from somewhere hidden within the sand blanket and scrutinized the writing on the battered envelope for what must have been the hundredth time. “I’ll head into town. You two stay out of sight and set up camp. I’ll return before dark.”
The leader, tucking both the letter and the shell casings away somewhere hidden, made his way down the hill and toward the town in the shadow of the cliff.
*~*~*