(Untitled)

[destruction1_0]

This is not the Winnemucca road.

Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota, Wichita, Tulsa, Ottawa, Oklahoma, Tampa, Panama, Mattawa, La Paloma, Bangor, Baltimore, Salvador, Amarillo, Tocopilla, Barranquilla, and Padilla, I'm a killer

Just as well. There's not enough in his pack to justify the verb 'to tote'.

Boston,

Comments

[shadowsusannah]

They hear him coming, huddled in the dust in their grief, the deadly slam of bootheels eating up distance, and Susannah knows she's seen the real deal now; this is him.

The Big White Man.

Patrick huddles behind her. "Hile," she says, her face a hard and savage mask. Her cheeks are dry and so are her eyes.

[destruction1_0]

"Hile," he says, selecting a cigar with care from the pocket of his shirt --

It's short, but not too big around.

-- and pops a match on his thumbnail.

And grins.

"And merry greet-the-day."

[shadowsusannah]

Patrick moans.

(Want to play with fire, little boy?)

"Don't mind him, he don't like strangers," Susannah says curtly. "What brings you here, sai?"

[destruction1_0]

"Third boxcar, midnight train, destination, Bangor, Maine."

He doesn't tilt his head back to exhale. Just exhales. The world doesn't shake or anything.

"Or shank's mare. Does it matter to you, lady-sai?"