The campsite overlooked a valley and a small village. Rain drops hissed as they spattered on the campfire. The wind had picked up, piercing a chill through Danny’s overcoat. He lay back on his saddle, hat cocked over both eyes. Dancer nickered at him.
“Shut yer lips. I fed you already.” He snuggled down into his jacket against the cold. “What d’ya want to eat for anyhow? Don’t matter no more.”
Dancer pawed at the ground and whinnied.
“Nothing to see, old girl. What’s got ya bothered?” Danny tilted his Stetson up with a rough finger and gazed out over the houses at the foot of the valley, possibly for the last time before the breached dam’s waters covered it forever.
The government folks had evacuated everyone who was still alive. Destroying a community for damn fool ‘progress’, and probably in no small part ‘cause so many of the townsfolk had succumbed to the flu. Not many folk were left to argue when the government folks came knockin’. Danny was just here collecting an easy few dollars by making sure no damn fools snuck down to their deaths.
The village was quiet. Mostly. But damned if there wasn’t something going on that was gonna turn this into a long night…
A few days earlier, as the evacuees filed out of town, Danny had asked Jake about Sally. “Flu got her, just like all the rest,” the old farrier had spat. But now, as Danny looked down upon the village, he spied cooking smoke spiraling up from Jake and Sally’s chimney. Dead women don’t make cooking fires, but if she didn’t get out of that house and up to higher ground, she’d be dead soon.
“Shit in my hat and call me a gelding.” Danny stared at the smoke, at Dancer, at his pocket watch. “Bad idea.”
Dancer nosed at the saddle, jostling Danny into action.
Danny grunted. “Alright, I hear you. Wouldn’t have you anyway if it weren’t for that woman.” He unfolded his old bones into a standing position. “Can’t let her die. Least’n not alone.”
They set off down the narrow trail at an unsafe trot as the rain picked up. A thunderclap echoed down the valley behind him. It sounded an awful lot like a gunpowder charge.
“Best hurry, girl.”
Danny rapped on the door. No answer. He pounded louder. “Sally, we gotta get moving!”
The curtains on the old slat-board house were drawn shut, but the flickering light of a fire peaked out. Thunder rumbled from up-valley. Was it just thunder? Danny glanced at his pocket watch. Probably, but there would be gunpowder explosions soon.
“Goddamn it, you old biddy, get off your ass and get out here!” he hollered, pounding on the rattling door like it had just laid down five aces. “Sally, get out here!”
The door creaked open and those blue eyes looked out at him with… well, with that look. “Danny, you make such a ruckus. Come on in. I’ve got some tasty steaks and some tastier whiskey.”
Danny took off his hat and held it over his chest, a desperate supplicant. “Sally, we gotta get out of here. Dancer can get us out before they blow the dam, but we gotta get now.”
Sally smiled a gentle smile. “Just Dancer, now? Missy would be mighty angry at you for calling her that. She named that horse, and she was always one for proper names.”
“Sure, sure. Elegant Beautiful Ballet Dancer.” Danny shook his head. “Fool name anyhow. Now plop your ass on that saddle, and let’s get.”
“She’s a fine horse, Danny.” Sally leaned out into the rain and eyed the old horse. “I don’t think she’s taking us out of here, though.”
Danny followed her gaze. Dancer was favoring her front left leg. “Oh no. No, that ain’t alright.” He rushed over to her and crouched down, lifting her leg. “No. Damn it all…” Ballet Dancer’s worn shoe had cracked and twisted in on itself. The jagged betraying metal pushed through the hoof wall and tore into the laminae. No way in hell she was making it back out, especially up that narrow trail with two riders.
Least’n not in time.
“We can walk out of here. We get high enough up the path…”
Sally took Danny’s hat from his rough hands and shuffled back into the house. “Don’t be a fool. We might’a made that trek back when we were…” She paused, winked over her shoulder. “When we were younger.”
Danny peaked at his pocket watch. Less than ten minutes. Even when they were young, they’d never have made it. He wiped sudden moisture from his eyes, sighed deep, and stepped into the house. He took off his jacket, stuck it on the coat rack where it had hung many times before, usually times when Jake hadn’t been around.
“Why the hell did you stay?” But in the firelight he saw her black eye. He knew. Sometimes, you’re just done. He left her to that life, least’n he could do was be with her as it ended.
“Missy was gonna show me how to cook up a steak with burning whiskey on it. Called it flambe, or something fancy like that. She never got to, though. Never did got to.”
“She got some of those fancy words in the city. Never set well with me.”
“It set just fine with me.” Her smile was sad and proud.
“It’s good, ain’t it?” Sally sat on the graveyard grass in front of Missy’s gravestone. Even with the rain falling on the steak, soaking her hair and hiding her tears, it tasted good.
“Girl knew how to cook.” Danny chewed in silence. “Not a whit of sense for naming horses, but damn, she could cook.”
“Her sense always came from her daddy.” Sally leaned into Danny’s shoulder as distant explosions and rumbling floodwaters warned of the end. “This is a fine way to go out. As a family.”
Danny put his arm around Sally and smiled. Dancer nickered and nuzzled his neck. “I’m glad we came down here, too, old girl,” he said to Sally, or Dancer, or both.
Where it had once overlooked a valley and small village, the campsite now sat on the edge of a lake. Debris, regrets, detritus, memories, all floated in the calm waters. A gust of wind caught an old Stetson like a paper sailboat and pushed it ashore, to rest alone next to the remains of a campfire.
–END
Author’s Note: I wrote this for an AutoCrit competition. The premise was pretty fun. To begin, we got an object (a pair of worn ballet shoes), a setting (a campsite on the shore of a manmade lake that drowned a town and still contains the structures and the graveyard), and a verb (flambe.) From there, we had to write a story including all those elements. But then, a week later, they added a twist that had to be added to the story: Betrayal! Something relied upon that fails the main character. So I rewrote the story, to include the horseshoe. Then, a week later, they added another twist: Something or someone is alive, that was thought not to be. So I rewrote the story yet again to include the premise that Danny thought Sally was dead. One thing I imagined as I wrote this was my grandma Sally, talking about how proud she was of her granddaughters. It made me happy, and I love the story because of it.
Copyright 2024 Abram Dress