I live in a world of ghosts and bone. The air does not make a sound for me. My ears died in the war when a cannon went off too close. Now, the world is just a series of shakes. I feel the wind on my skin. I feel the horse through my legs. Most of all, I feel the heavy thud of boots on the porch.
I was sitting in my chair when the floor started to shiver. It was a panicked rhythm: fast and light. I grabbed my rifle. When I opened the door, three kids were there. Mick was the oldest. He was ten. He held Phoebe and Arlo by their hands. They were covered in gray dust. Mick’s mouth was moving fast. I watched his lips. He said the word “blood” over and over. He said “Seth.”
Seth was the man who owned the valley. He wanted the water. The kids had seen him kill their parents to get it. If they reached the judge in the city, Seth would hang. If they stayed here, they would be buried in the sand. I looked at Mick. His eyes were wide and wet. He looked at me like I was a god. I am no god. I am just a man who can’t hear his own name. But I felt a cold stone drop in my stomach. I knew I couldn’t let them die in the dark.
We left within the hour. The Mojave is a giant, hot hand that tries to crush you. The sun felt like a hot coin pressed against the back of my neck. I put the kids on my pack mule. I walked beside them. Every few minutes, I knelt down. I put my palm flat on the dirt.
I felt them coming.
It was a low hum in the earth. It felt like the beating of a dark heart. Five horses. Maybe six. They were coming fast. They didn’t care about the heat. They only cared about the paper that said Seth owned the creek.
We hit the canyon around noon. The red rocks felt like they were bleeding. I saw Arlo looking back. He was crying, but I couldn’t hear it. That is the worst part of being deaf. You see the pain, but you don’t get the sound to help you understand it. It makes the world feel like a dream you can’t wake up from. I reached up and squeezed his leg. His skin was burning hot.
I saw dust on the horizon. A thin, brown line. Seth’s men.
I led the kids into a narrow crack in the stone. I told them to stay still. I held my finger to my lips. Mick nodded. He held the little ones close. I could see his knuckles were white. He was trying to be a man, but he was just a boy who wanted his mother. I felt a sharp ache in my chest. It was the same ache I felt when my own boy died back in Ohio. It is a hollow, sucking feeling. It never goes away.
I climbed the ridge. I waited.
The men rode in. I could feel the vibration of their horses through the soles of my boots. It was a heavy, rhythmic thumping. I saw Seth leading them. He looked clean. His boots were polished. He didn’t look like a killer. He looked like a man who went to church.
He stopped his horse. He looked at the tracks I had left. He was smiling. He thought he had us.
I didn’t have a lot of bullets. I had four. I took a deep breath. My heart was hitting my ribs like a hammer. I aimed at the lead horse. I pulled the trigger.
The kick of the rifle hit my shoulder. I didn’t hear the bang, but I felt the heat. The horse went down. Seth spilled into the dirt. The other men scrambled. They started shooting. I couldn’t hear the guns, but I saw the puffs of white smoke. I felt the air snap near my ear as a bullet went past. It felt like a hot bee.
I moved to a new spot. I was fast. I spent my life scouting for the army. I knew how to hide in the shadows of the rocks. I fired again. A man in a blue shirt fell over. He clutched his throat. His face turned a deep, dark purple.
Then, I felt a massive blow to my side.
It wasn’t a sound. It was a cold, wet shock. I looked down. My shirt was turning red. The blood looked like ink in the bright sun. I felt my legs go soft, like they were made of tall grass. I fell back against the stone.
The world started to tilt. I felt the ground humming again. They were coming up the hill.
I thought about the kids. I thought about Phoebe’s small hand in mine. If I died here, they would be gone. Seth would put them in the ground and the world would never know what he did. That thought was worse than the pain. It was a fire in my brain.
I crawled to the edge. I saw Seth. He was walking up the slope. He had a pistol out. He looked bored.
I reached into my pocket. I didn’t have another bullet for the rifle. But I had my knife. It was heavy and made of old steel. I waited until the vibrations in the rock were so strong they made my teeth ache.
Seth rounded the corner. He saw me bleeding on the ground. He laughed. I could see the shape of his mouth as he mocked me. He pointed the gun at my head.
I didn’t wait. I threw the knife with everything I had left.
It hit him in the soft part of the neck. His eyes went wide. The gun fell from his hand. He fell forward, and the dust rose up around him in a cloud. He twitched once, and then the vibrations stopped.
The other men ran. They were cowards. Without Seth’s money, there was no reason to die in the heat.
I lay there for a long time. The sun started to go down. The sky turned the color of a bruised plum. I felt a small hand on my shoulder. It was Mick. He was crying. I could see the tears making tracks in the dust on his cheeks.
I reached up and touched his face. My hand was shaking. I wanted to tell him it would be okay, but I didn’t know if I could speak anymore. My voice felt like it was buried under a mile of sand.
We made it to the city three days later. A doctor stitched my side. The judge took the kids into a big room. I sat on a bench outside. I put my feet flat on the floor.
I could feel the heavy steps of people walking by. I could feel the city breathing.
Mick came out an hour later. He wasn’t crying anymore. He walked over and sat next to me. He took my hand. He leaned his head against my arm.
For the first time in ten years, I didn’t feel the silence. I felt the weight of him. I felt his heart beating through his shirt. It was a steady, strong rhythm. It told me that the ghosts were gone. We were still here. The world was quiet, but for the first time, it didn’t feel empty.