Chapter 2
Two
bex
We’re six hours into Graveyard Territory, and I’m silently hoping we haven’t veered off track.
About an hour ago, we stopped at a small creek to rest the horses.
Now, the sun hangs low to our left, getting dangerously close to the horizon.
We’re losing light faster than expected.
One of my canteens is already empty, and the second is halfway there.
I’m torn between pushing on and finding another creek to boil more water.
We keep at a steady trot. The prairie’s openness is breathtaking.
With only a few scattered cottonwood trees, there’s nothing out here but wind, tall grass, and open sky above.
In our favor, we’ve yet to cross paths with a single bandit or anything else to justify the fear folks have of this territory.
This land feels like nature in its purest form, as if we’re the first humans to set foot this far west.
Frostbite and my sister slow to a stop, falling behind me and Tumbleweed. “Wait, Bex. I think I see something over there.” Nina straightens in her saddle and points off to her right. “Is that the town you saw?”
I follow her line of sight and spot a cluster of dark silhouettes along the horizon. “Yup. That’s it.”
We guide the horses, trotting through the tall grass until it breaks at the edge of town.
We step out onto a dirt path that cuts straight through to the other side.
I guess it could be considered a road, except it doesn’t extend out like a normal road connecting communities or homes.
Just a long stretch of dry dirt separating the two sides of this small town.
A chill sweeps down my spine at the eeriness as there isn’t a single soul walking about.
I hope we didn’t just stumble upon an actual ghost town.
“Look here,” Nina says, gesturing to the weathered wood sign nailed to the side of the building on our right.
Welcome to Gravers Junction
Population 34
Yup. This is this place. The woman said take my message to Gravers Junction.
My gaze drifts to the number thirty-four.
It’s carved on its own square piece of wood and fitted into the sign like a puzzle piece.
“Seems like there are people here. And looks as good as any place to rest for the night,” I say, hoping to ease whatever nerves Nina might be feeling.
With any luck, we’ll find a place to stay and the recipient of the message I carry, then be on our way home tomorrow morning.
“We’re limited in our options, so yeah, this looks as good as any,” Nina retorts, her expression mirroring the anxious nerves fluttering in my stomach. “We need to be careful in handling people who live this far from society. It’s all about survival out here. You got your pistol ready, right?”
During our last trip into town for supplies, the general store owner sold us a rusty old pistol. It wasn’t my idea, as I hate any kind of firearm. But Nina insisted we get one.
I pat the saddlebag to reassure her. “Yeah. It’s in here. And don’t try talking me into getting it out. I might accidentally shoot myself, or you!”
She rolls her eyes. “I should’ve taught you how to shoot before riding out here.”
She isn’t wrong, but I’m not about to admit that.
I probably would’ve argued and whined like a spoiled child if she tried to put a firearm in my hands.
Nina’s always been the one to handle my late husband’s old rifle whenever we hear noises outside at night or need to chase off unwelcome pests or birds.
She’s got that same rifle tucked in a scabbard, affixed to the right side of her saddle.
I’m about to nudge Tumbleweed forward when a dog barks from somewhere nearby. I search the road and between the buildings, but I can’t spot the bugger.
“Something isn’t right with this place.” Nina presses her lips together, studying the worn buildings and empty road. After a long moment, she asks, “Bex, are you sure this is the place?”
I read the sign again. Welcome to Gravers Junction. “Yup. This is it.”
With a gentle nudge of my boots against Tumbleweed’s belly, she walks the road into town.
I hope the thirty-four souls mentioned on the town’s sign aren’t the dangerous kind.
Better to be safe than sorry, I reach into my saddlebag and make sure the pistol is ready if needed.
I may not like violence, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fight back if attacked.
Nina and Frostbite fall in beside us as we pass the first set of buildings.
There are four buildings on the right. The last one is a rather large and extremely long barn-shaped structure, and it’s distinguished by having two sets of wide double barn doors that open along its front side.
Then to our left, there are five single-story structures, with a taller three-story building set at a slight angle and facing toward us.
It’s the only structure with signs of life, with soft glows of flickering candlelight in its windows.
Nina seems to notice the candlelight too. “Well, I guess we start there,” she mutters.
“Mm-humph.” We continue forward toward the three-story building. No one comes out to greet us or ask about our business. “Stay alert,” I warn her, scanning the doors and windows.
“You stay alert,” she repeats with a severe tone. “You’re the one who startles easily and panics, acting before thinking and all.”
A few steps along and Nina’s horse falls behind.
A sudden gust of wind slams into me, nearly whipping off my hat.
This time I catch it before the ties pull at my neck.
Looking over my shoulder, I yell, “Give me a heads-up, will ya!” But Nina has gone quiet, her eyes shut as she tilts her face to the early evening sky.
She’s caught in one of her trances, probably trying to find out if there’s danger here.
When the wind dies and she finally looks at me, she says, “This place isn’t like other towns. There’s something powerful here.”
“Are we in any danger?” I ask, holding Tumbleweed still as Nina guides Frostbite up to us.
“I don’t think so. But there’s something different about this land.” She studies the dirt road beneath our horses. “A powerful energy coming from beneath the ground.”
“Is this the feeling you mentioned last night? How you felt something calling you?”
“Maybe.” She falls silent again as we proceed forward, accompanied by the steady thud of hooves and the clink of metal buckles and chains.
After a long moment, she says, “Actually, I don’t think it was this place or whatever energy’s coming from the ground that called to me.
The feeling here is different than what I felt by the campfire last night.
Whatever’s here is incredibly powerful. It’s like the tornado version of what I can call when speaking to the winds. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
I reach over and place a hand on her forearm. “Hey, it’s okay. That’s not why we’re here. Whatever you’re feeling, we’ll be on our way by tomorrow. Leaving this place behind us.”
She nods in understanding. She looks over the town again, and I notice her favorite dress, the cream-colored one with little blue flowers on it, is in need of a good wash. I glance down at the skirt of my dress and think we both could use a hot meal and some clean clothes.
“How about we go and try to find a place to hole up for the night?”
“That sounds good.” She smiles. “We both need a good night’s sleep.” As we near the tall building, she adds, “We do what we came for, get some rest and restock what we can, and then head out at first light.”
“Agreed,” I say, looking down at my dress.
What I wouldn’t give to soak in the one luxury my late husband splurged on when building our farmhouse—our copper tub.
Levi took his time building our home, slowly over time and by hand.
Eventually, he’d saved up enough money from working at his family’s ranch and bought that damn tub for me.
At first, I’d hated it, knowing we could’ve invested his earnings in a more practical way.
Over time, I grew to appreciate it. Now, after three days of riding, my whole body aches for a hot bath.
Both horses come to a stop when the dog barks again, sharp and alarming. Both Nina and I search out where the dog’s hiding. Amidst my search, I note the weathered sign above the double doors to the three-story building. The words are faded, but it reads: Gravers Inn.
An inn. Oh, thank the gods.
“Over there,” Nina calls, and points to the shaded area between the inn and the last single-story building lining the left side of town.
The inn sits at an angle so its front faces the road into town.
A stout oak tree grows in the tapering space between the two buildings, its branches casting a heavy shadow that stretches toward the dirt street.
Inside that darkness, I finally spot the mutt.
A medium-sized, scruffy black dog stands, watching us.
While it isn’t growling, its tail is also still, so I reckon we keep a good distance.
I click my tongue and guide Tumbleweed forward until she reaches the hitching post beside the trough. Nina and I dismount and take a moment to straighten the skirts of our dresses, which’ve twisted during the long ride, before securing the horses.
“I see a pump over there.” Nina grabs a metal bucket from beside the empty trough. I follow and grab a second bucket sitting by the pump. Together we fill them, the cold water splashing onto our boots, then carry them back to the trough.
“You two lost?” A man’s voice behind us makes me jump. My fingers slip and the bucket tips. Water splashes down the front of my dress.
We spin toward the porch of the inn where a tall man stands, pale skin flushed as if he has been working under a harsh sun. Light brown hair pokes from beneath a wide leather sunrider hat and trails down into a short beard along his jaw.