Dark Sanity
Chapter One

The Cowboy’s Vow

Central Australia’s scorched terrain appeared endless as Flint Cross, Tom Cross, and Joey Stalls rode through it. The draught savanna fluttered while the three horses galloped forward. Feeling the wind push him along, Tom let out a skyward cheer. Flint tilted his head and glanced at his jubilant son with a smile.

“I think Tommy’s gonna make a fine ranger huntin’ wit us,” said Joey.

Flint nodded at him.

“You really think so?” asked Tom.

“Yep,” said Joey. “There ain’t nothin’ better than a good ol’ hunt; all ya have ta do is howl like a dingo, bite like a crocodile, ‘n think like a maniac. Ya got tha howlin’ part down. Now ya just gotta bite hard ’n be—”

“As crazy as me,” said Flint.

The horseback riders laughed as they traveled past the savanna. The eastern expanse was a crusty yet radiant frontier. A dangerous wave of heat gripped the land, creating a blurry effect. Flint, however, had adapted to the temperature. He was one of the few who were immune to the severe heat. In fact, Tom and Joey were the same. Those who didn’t adapt simply died.

The trio embraced the humid wind while riding farther into the northeastern wilds. In the distance were several mountains, or at least that was how they appeared to Flint from afar. When the riders traveled a bit closer, the rock formations became clearer, turning out to be gargantuan bornhardts.

Kata Tjuta—The Olgas—stood on the eastern region from where the trio rode. It was never a dull sight to Flint. The thirty-six dome-shaped bornhardts gleamed with an orange-red tinge. Not too far away from Kata Tjuta, they came upon a kangaroo hopping with a youngling in its pouch.

“Hey, Joey,” called out Tom. “It’s you!”

He laughed hysterically while Joey shrugged, grumbling under his breath. Flint joined in with his son, chuckling when he noticed the kangaroo carrying her joey.

“Funny,” said Joey. “Gettin’ back at me from earlier, eh?”

Tom grinned as he nodded, continuing to ride north with his father. It wasn’t long until Kata Tjuta was far behind them. They eventually passed by a boulder sign that looked ages old. It was barely readable—Wel o e to Al ce Spr ngs. There was, however, a new sign carved on an arch of wood high above the dusty trail leading them to a town with several plantations:

Welcome to the town of Desonas!

Flint had never been happy about the withered world, but the town of Desonas was the one remaining remnant of civilization that made him whole—survivors from around the world had come here to avoid the deadly heat. He could already see the many ranches and plantations throughout the land, as well as tiny springs trickling with water. The horseback riders passed a few onlookers by the town’s entrance. The women wore shabby Victorian dresses. Most of the men were even shabbier with dingy jeans and tattered, wide-brimmed hats.

Bystanders greeted the trio as they rode by. The townspeople in Desonas knew each and every resident by name, face, and reputation. It was a big town, but the folks helped one another since they were out in the middle of nowhere. Based on what Flint knew, no other civilization existed. The populace was unable to make a new settlement in Australia because most of the land had been ruined by the lethal heat. The Northern Territory was all that remained, so those living here in Desonas had to work together to survive. In fact, Flint referred to the townspeople as his second family, especially Joey.

“Howdy, Cross!” said Ronald Salomon.

“Good afternoon, Marshal,” said Flint, waving.

Ronald Salomon, a six-foot-tall man clad in black clothes, was the town’s marshal. He looked as old as Flint with gray shoulder-length hair and a thick, well-groomed beard. Marshal Salomon squinted on the veranda of his office as the black-spotted sun shone on his wrinkled face. He tipped the brim of his hat at Flint and his company, bidding farewell to them.

The buildings they passed by were rundown; no standing structure was taller than two stories. Among them was a church led by Preacher Harrison. Truth be told, Flint felt disturbed when he rode past the town’s house of worship. But it wasn’t due to the preacher. In fact, they were great friends. It was a rather odd sensation he experienced because he wasn’t sure what to believe in considering that Earth was now a godforsaken planet. Yet there was something else lingering within him, a daunting notion that someone was calling out to him from above—a feminine whisper.

“Hamarah doesn’t exist,” he muttered to himself.

Gazing up, he only saw the black-spotted sun. Flint was gradually becoming delusional, he realized, stuck here on this dying rock. Thinking about why he’d thought he heard a woman’s voice call out to him, he felt as though he’d forgotten something extremely important. This made him feel sick to his stomach. He dared not speak of this incident to anyone; he simply pretended to be the same as the others—a nonchalant, law-abiding citizen. He wiped sweat away from his brow and shook his head, trying to let go of these troublesome thoughts.

The trio kept riding through the town’s dusty trail. They rode between two orchard plantations where many farmers attempted to gather fruit. Upon passing them, Flint led his company to a vineyard a short distance from his home. When the riders reached the homestead they pulled on the reins of their horses and came to a halt. Flint was the first to get off his steed, hitching its reins to a post. He then helped Tom and Joey unload their share of the bear’s skin and meat, stacking them up on the porch.

“Son,” called out Flint, getting ready to open the front door, “can you bring the horses to the corral?”

“Sure,” said Tom.

He led the horses to a corral beside the barn. In the meantime, Flint opened the front door of his house and stepped inside with his new trophy. It was quiet inside. This made him sigh with relief. He then started wondering where he should put the animal’s head when his wife appeared behind him and gasped in horror.

“Flint Cross,” began Amanda, placing her hands on her hips. “Just what do you think you’re doing bringing that into my house?”

“Our house, you mean?” he replied gruffly.

Marrying her was the one decision he regretted. He accepted many things in life, such as the dead world and its heat that could kill people if they didn’t adapt. He accepted being a father. He even accepted his old age despite him being unhappy about it. But he could barely accept the reality of coming home to Amanda. Her close-minded attitude about his hobbies was enough to make him lose his temper and have a reason to hate her more.

“Are you actually planning on keeping that thing in my house?” said Amanda, stroking her black hair to the side. “It’s disgusting!”

Joey couldn’t help but laugh, giving Flint a sidelong grin. Amanda dared to watch her husband play taxidermist, her eyes widening in shock. She then noticed Joey bringing in some meat.

“So, you finally found some real food out there?” she asked.

“Obviously,” said Flint, unprofessionally hammering the bear’s head onto a plaque so he could hang it up on the entrance’s wall. He knew it would make the house stink, but a part of him decided to do this just to spite his wife. “I handled the bear. Joey helped skin it.”

“It took us a bit of time,” said Joey. “But by God, we scored big!”

Sulking under her breath, Amanda stomped to the kitchen. Flint snorted when she left. Joey simply shrugged. Together they climbed a bench and hung up the trophy. Afterwards, they brought the skin and meat into the kitchen. Although uptight, Amanda took out a cooking knife and started cutting the meat to cure it. Tom entered the kitchen as soon as Flint and Joey finished placing their last stacks of meat on the counter.

“Hey, mom,” said Tom.

“Welcome back, dear,” said Amanda, kissing her son on the cheek. “How was your first day with the outlaws?”

Tom began, “It was—”

“Outlaws?” interjected Flint.

Upon hearing his father’s tone of voice, Tom withdrew and kept his mouth shut. He hated when his parents argued, but he wasn’t about to get in their way. Joey tilted his head, pouting at Tom.

“We just brought back a week’s worth of food and you’re calling us outlaws?”

“It was great, mom,” intervened Tom before she could snap back at his father. “Dad took on a bear bigger than any animal I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I just wish skinning it wasn’t so messy.”

Joey chuckled while taking a seat at the kitchen table and said, “Well, I reckon ya hunt it next time.”

“No thanks,” said Tom, shaking his head.

“Ah, yer no fun,” said Joey teasingly.

“My son’s smart, Mr. Stalls,” said Amanda, working on the meat. “And, in this town, smart is what’s truly important.” She smiled for a change, proud of herself, and asked, “Tom, dear, can you help me?”

“I’ll do it,” said Flint.

“No,” said Amanda sternly. “Marshal Salomon would like to have a word with you. I think it’s important.”

“Really?” said Flint, looking skeptical. Amanda reassured him with a nod. He still wore a doubtful expression despite her nod. He grumbled under his breath and continued in an irritated tone, “Well, that’s odd. I just rode past him on Donna; he didn’t seem so anxious to speak with me when I saw him.”

“Probably because he noticed that you’d just returned,” responded Amanda in a mutually irritated tone. “Any man with manners would know his boundaries, unlike you and your hideous trophy.”

“I knew you’d hate it,” said Tom, curing the meat next to his mother.

Flint ignored his wife’s remark. “Where is Sarah?” he inquired.

“She’s in the vineyard making sure the grapes are all right,” replied Amanda. “Check on her before you see Salomon.”

Flint complied with a sullen expression on his face. He waved at Joey, patted his son, and then stepped outside. Heading over to the vineyard, he spotted his daughter gathering grapes on the far left side of the vineyard.

Sarah Cross, a petite young woman with red waist-length hair and light freckles on her face, strangely didn’t resemble her parents. Although wearing a dress, she had the look of a tomboy. Flint, above all people, knew this. She continued harvesting grapes despite her father standing there.

“Still upset with me?” he asked.

“Dad, do you even have to ask?” she said without bothering to look back at him. Upon harvesting the last vine, she placed the grapes in her basket and faced her father with a frown. “You let Tommy go, yet he’s five years younger than me. It’s not fair.”

“Sarah, turning twenty changes nothing,” he said, trying to remain calm. “Life’s just not the same for a woman out there. You know I considered it, but your mother would’ve killed me if you came along with us. She’s already upset because I brought home a bear’s head.”

“What?” she said, less upset. “Can I see it?”

“Of course you can,” he said. They started walking along the right side of the vineyard, not far from where the barn stood. “In fact, I’m pretty sure anyone who visits our home will see it,” he added, winking.

“Mom was actually okay with this?” she asked in disbelief.

“No,” he said, “but I put it on display anyway.”

“Oh my gosh,” she said. “That must’ve really gotten mom riled up.” Flint nodded at her as she excitedly went on, “Our neighbors will probably be jealous to see it when they come by for the festival.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he said smoothly, stopping at the corral and leaning against the splintery wood. “Listen, I need to ride Donna to see Marshal Salomon about something. Why don’t you go take a look at my prize while I’m gone? You can tell me what you think when I come back.”

“Okay,” she said, hugging her father. “If you happen to see Jake, please tell him I said hi.”

“I sure will,” he said. “See you soon, darling.”

After parting, Flint entered the dusty corral and mounted Donna, his mare. He tugged the reins and waved at his daughter while his horse galloped away. Flint glanced at the neighboring farms, which belonged to the Froehlich and Steward families. Even though the farms were a part of Desonas, the town square stood three miles away.

It was brighter and hotter outside, yet Flint didn’t break a sweat. He was lucky enough to catch a nice breeze because of the ride. A piece of tumbleweed rolled across the dusty trail while his mare trotted forward. Flint guided Donna away from it and continued onward. He eventually reached the square and dismounted his mare, hitching her at a post beside the marshal’s office. The door was already open. He knocked anyway before entering.

“Come in,” said Marshal Salomon, his feet on the desk. “Ah, Cross. I was hoping you’d show up.”

Flint entered, tipping his hat. “How are you, Marshal?”

“Not too shabby, my friend,” said Salomon. “And yourself?”

“Just dandy, sir,” he replied. “My wife told me you needed me. Is that true?” When the marshal answered with a nod, Flint continued, “You should’ve stopped me when I came back. Joey would’ve taken my son home.”

“It’s quite all right,” said Salomon. “I don’t expect you to be doing anything more today. Besides, I’m seeing your ugly face again at the festival. Right?”

Flint laughed. “I guess so,” he said.

“But it’s still good you came,” said Salomon in a serious tone. “Speaking privately about this is what I had hoped for. And please, close the door.”

“Sure,” said Flint, closing the door behind him. When he did so, Salomon stood up from his seat and walked over to a window, peeping through the blinds. Flint raised an eyebrow. “Is everything all right, Marshal?”

“Yes,” he said. “For now at least. There are two jobs I have for you. That is, if you’re interested.”

“I’m listening.”

Salomon leaned against the wall beside a window and continued, “Well, I sent both my deputies over to the mine. The miners have apparently struck gold.”

Flint’s dull face lit up.

“Not real gold,” said Salomon, chuckling softly. “They discovered a strange tunnel after an unforeseen earthquake. One of the walls collapsed; it led the miners down to a trail with metal we’ve never seen before.” He noticed that Flint’s lit up face changed to a frown but went on, “I was hoping—”

“Absolutely not,” said Flint, scowling. “With all due respect, Marshal, I told you several times already that I’m not a miner, nor am I meant to be a deputy or overseer.”

“Very well,” said Salomon with disappointment.

“I made a vow long ago to protect this town…not help run it,” said Flint. “Now, what’s the second proposition you’ve got for me?”

“It’s for your ears only,” said Salomon. “Absolutely no one is to know about this. Not even my son knows. If you want to take Joey with you, that’s fine. But under no circumstances are you to tell him the details. Do you understand?”

“All right, let me hear it.”

For a second, Salomon looked like he might not proceed. “During one of my evening patrols I came across a dead Wakaya near Uluru. His chest had gun wounds.”

Flint’s eyes widened.

“I know,” added Salomon, noticing his reaction. “But it gets worse. When I returned his body to the tribe, their chief told me everything.”

“I’m surprised Yeramba even spoke to you,” said Flint. “The Wakaya prefer isolation more than any of the other aboriginals. Who the hell would do such a thing?”

“I was getting to that,” said Salomon. “Do you remember Browder?”

Flint stiffened. He looked as though he recalled a nightmare that he’d buried deep within his mind, hoping to never remember. The memory of Browder seemed like a lifetime ago. His heart pounded, and a strange sensation of nostalgia swept over him as if something else from his subconscious was trying to emerge. Flint managed to give a faint nod.

“Believe me, I had the same reaction,” said Salomon. “That’s right, after all these years he’s finally resurfaced. But he’s lost it. I mean, before Browder disappeared he already seemed to be losing it with those absurd stories of his past. And now, from what the tribe told me, his hallucinations have driven him completely mad. He was the best gunslinger we had until you took over. I don’t even think I can take out Browder.”

“Are you positive it’s him?”

“No, but who else would do this?” replied Salomon. “Chief Yeramba said this wasn’t the first time one of his people were shot. He’s been replaceing corpses of his tribesmen for weeks.”

“Weeks?” said Flint, distraught. “And Yeramba tells you this now?”

“It was kept secret between all the tribes,” replied Salomon. “The tribesmen are calling him wild demon; they’ve been trying to hunt him down to honor their gods. Though, now that I’ve found a body, they had no choice but to come clean. We can’t have outlaws like Browder terrorizing people, especially during the festival. That’s why I need you to replace him.”

“If it’s really Browder who’s causing this, then they can’t possibly expect to kill him unless they also have guns,” said Flint.

“They don’t know who Browder is,” said Salomon, walking over to an empty cell. “I’m the one who’s assuming that it’s him based on what Chief Yeramba and his tribe have told me. To them, a wild demon has come to steal their souls for Wanambi. It’s as simple as that. Now, are you going to help?”

“Of course,” said Flint. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just making sure,” said Salomon, smirking.

“As I said before, Marshal, I made a vow since Browder disappeared: to protect this town and its people with my life,” said Flint, removing a Peacemaker from his holster and spinning it with ease. “That includes the aboriginals. We’re all in this together, and I’m not letting anybody down. Whether it’s Browder or somebody else, something strange is definitely happening in the wilds. And if the aboriginals fail to stop Browder, then this problem will eventually affect us.” Flint checked his revolver’s cylinder—six bullets. He spun his revolver back into its holster and went on, “This is much more serious than you led on, Marshal. I should get Joey and leave right now.”

“Wait a minute,” said Salomon, taken aback. “Now?”

“Marshal, that maniac can attack anytime.”

Salomon looked troubled at first but nonetheless agreed.

“Do any of the aboriginals know where Browder may be?” asked Flint.

“I doubt it. Otherwise they would’ve dealt with him already,” replied Salomon. “Flint, if you’re seriously planning to leave now, I strongly suggest you see them first. We both know they don’t like outsiders, but I’m sure they’ll comply once you tell Chief Yeramba that you’re helping him and his tribe kill Browder—the wild demon.” He shook Flint’s hand with a slight expression of hope and said, “I wish there was more I could do, but I need to keep an eye on this town since my deputies are at the mine.”

“Don’t worry about it, Marshal,” said Flint, waving his hand. “That’s why I’m here.” He headed for the door while adding, “I’ll try to return before the festival. And trust me, if anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

“All right, good luck out there,” said Salomon. “And, Cross,” he called out before Flint left. “Thanks for helping.”

“Protecting the people of this town is my life, Marshal,” he said, exiting the office.

Standing on the veranda, Flint observed the dusty town. When thinking of Browder, he had a strange feeling that this town wasn’t real. He was never one to be overly conscious of his surroundings or the inner depths of his muddled mind, at least from what he could remember. And that was the problem—he had little memory of his past. This sudden flash of self-aware tension hit him as though someone had shot him awake.

“Cross!” shouted a nearby voice. “Flint Cross!”

Flint’s dilated eyes returned to normal. Upon breaking away from his daydreaming, he noticed Preacher Harrison approaching.

“Steve,” he said warmly.

Preacher Harrison, an elderly man, gave out a hearty laugh and said, “Why, for a moment there you looked like you saw a ghost.”

Flint hugged him and replied, “Not yet.”

The preacher laughed and said, “One day, when the good Lord wills it, I’ll be a ghost myself. But don’t count on me visiting you. The good Lord said that after the end of days the faithful shall join Him—that time is coming very soon. Just look at the state of the world and you’ll know in your heart that it’s true.”

Flint nodded at Preacher Harrison but wasn’t entirely swayed by his words. Although he didn’t understand why, something deep within his mind told him that he had unfinished business before leaving this dead world.

“It’s not over yet,” said Flint, gazing at the sky.

“I beg your pardon?” responded Preacher Harrison, surprised by the unexpected tone Flint used.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I mean, the end of days hasn’t come just yet.”

“Oh, I see,” said Preacher Harrison, looking at him suspiciously. “Well, I just wanted to say hello. I’d best be going now. The good Lord is waiting for me to return to my prayers. Come by with your folks for once, eh?”

“I promise,” said Flint, a bit embarrassed yet still shameless. “After the festival you’ll see me with my wife. And don’t worry, it won’t be for a divorce.”

Preacher Harrison chuckled and then waved goodbye.

Flint turned his attention back to the town square. Looking ahead, he spotted passersby walking along the grimy road. Some kept to themselves while others conversed quietly among one another. A few were sitting on the opposite side of the veranda, in front of a saloon called The Wild Owl. Meanwhile, the Steward family rode by on their stagecoach with goods they’d just received after trading with aboriginal herders. Even though there was a lot going on in front of Flint, he wasn’t paying much attention.

“Browder,” he muttered, drifting away yet again. He refused to believe Browder would go on a rampage, killing innocent people. “It can’t be him,” he said to himself. Just then, he noticed Joey’s stallion hitched by the town’s gun shop. Perfect timing, he thought. He stepped down the veranda, walked across the dusty road, and entered the store. “I’m impressed, you got back home pretty quick.”

“Heya, partner,” said Joey. “Yeah, I left just a few minutes after you. So, what’ll it be?” Glancing at a rack of various guns, he grabbed a Chassepot and went on, “This breach-loadin’ baby is my finest rifle. I can also show ya my latest revolver. But, er, that face of yers is tellin’ me otherwise. Somethin’ on ya mind?”

“Yes,” replied Flint despondently. “Marshal Salomon just told me that someone’s been murdering aboriginals—the Wakaya. Now I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Salomon seems to think that the man responsible for killing them is Browder.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I could hardly believe it myself,” said Flint. “I guess your reaction is how most folks would respond, which is why you need to keep this a secret. The only reason why I told you this is because I need you to come with me. I’m not sure if I can stop an outlaw at my age, especially if he’s Browder.”

“I see,” said Joey, startled. “Well then, what’re we waitin’ fer?”

He tossed his Chassepot to Flint, grabbed a Winchester for himself, and placed it in a gun scabbard. Flint, meanwhile, stocked up on bullets and slung a bandolier over his vest.

“Hey,” pouted Joey, “yer payin’ fer all that, right?”

“Consider us coming back alive as payment.”

Joey rubbed his chin. “Hmm, yer always a thinker. I guess that’s why I’m still followin’ ya even though yer crazy.”

They both chuckled.

“Anythin’ else we need?”

“Some food for the journey would suffice,” said Flint. “You still have some left over bush tucker, right?”

“Yep,” said Joey, going downstairs.

“Get one of your knapsacks too,” said Flint. “We can put the food inside.” He raised his voice since Joey was in the cellar, “I’m going to take some extra ammo just in case!”

“Good idea!” said Joey, also raising his voice.

Flint noticed a double-action swing-out-cylinder magnum on the counter. He had never seen such a gun before. Flint peeked at the basement door—no sign of Joey—and put the gun in his left holster. The magnum barely fit, but he managed. After taking several more bandoliers of ammunition from beneath the counter, he walked over to the door leading outside.

Still waiting for Joey, he started feeling anxious. Pacing back and forth, he wondered whether the outlaw who’d killed the Wakaya was in fact Browder. If it was him, thought Flint, why did he vanish for so many years, and why did he decide to come back? Could he have a posse with him or is he acting alone? He snapped out of his daydreaming, hearing steps creak from behind.

“So,” began Joey, finally coming back upstairs, “does Amanda know what we’re plannin’ ta do now?”

“Amanda?” replied Flint, staring blankly at him as if he didn’t recognize the name.

Joey exploded with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” asked Flint, irritated. “She knows how busy I can be with this line of work. Besides, if she starts worrying she can visit Salomon. He’d probably tell her something to calm her down.”

“Have it yer way, partner,” said Joey, tapping Flint on the shoulder. “Let’s git outta here ’n replace us an outlaw before tha festival.” He exited his shop and reached his stallion, placing his knapsack on the saddle. “Time fer another long ride, Buddy.”

Flint walked across the road and freed his mare from the hitch post. Buddy, Joey’s black stallion, trotted toward Donna. The steeds stood beside each other until their masters tugged their reins. Together they galloped out of Desonas—south. Flint felt confident riding his horse into the desolate frontier. Joey, on the other hand, was so ecstatic with their adventure that he raised his rifle and cheered. He’d always been a bit strange, Flint conceded, but that’s what made Joey amusing, as well as a good cohort to have in the wilds. To Flint, good company meant good security.

Most of the Northern Territory’s terrain was flat. And though barren, tumbleweed rolled by during an occasional breeze. Fertile land was rarely seen outside of Desonas, but it did exist. In fact, Flint saw potential farmland while he rode out. Much of Australia’s terrain, however, remained without alteration since the aboriginals didn’t want their sacred landscape changed. Another problem was that those few who dreamed of expanding their land were too nervous to take a risk. So, the continent remained barren. Even the trees scattered throughout the wilds were withered.

If anyone still lived outside of Australia and traveled here, they would probably consider it to be a war-torn land. But to Flint, having an arid wasteland for a home was just fine—mostly because he didn’t know anything else. As he traveled south with Joey, he noticed one of Earth’s largest sandstone rock formations: Uluru, a site considered sacred by the aboriginals. It looked small from Desonas; however, it soared three-thousand feet high like a majestic citadel whose aim was to kiss the clouds. The sun had begun to set, but the reddish clutches of Uluru stood out like a mountain of fire.

“So, why didn’t ya tell Amanda ’bout this expedition of ours?” asked Joey. “I mean, she is yer wife ’n all.”

“You’re joking, right?” responded Flint. To his surprise, Joey looked serious. “Didn’t you see how she reacted earlier?”

“Well, I guess.”

“Mind you, that was just a lousy trophy,” said Flint. “Imagine what she’d say or do after telling her that I’m hunting an outlaw. She expects me to be up all night fixing the house for the festival when it can be done between her and Sarah.”

“Good answer,” said Joey. “But I’m still puttin’ my money on a secret. Yer tryin’ ta hide somethin’ from me, aren’t ya?” He winked at him. “Still dreamin’ of that woman?”

“Wh-what?” stuttered Flint, slightly blushing. “N-no. I haven’t dreamt of Hamarah in months.”

“Sure,” said Joey, guffawing.

“Why would I lie?” said Flint defensively. “She’s just a damn fantasy. It’s not like I’m being unfaithful to Amanda.”

Joey’s eyebrows twitched, a grin growing on his face.

“And I’ll tell you this,” went on Flint, “between you and me, I wish those dreams would come back.”

“Heck, I’d freakin’ wish fer tha same thing myself from tha way ya described her,” said Joey, squeezing his chest and pretending he had huge breasts. “Ooh la la.”

Flint sighed.

“Ah, I’m just kiddin’ wit ya,” said Joey with sympathy. “Listen, I know things aren’t so grand between ya two, but she does love ya. And I know, somewhere in that crazy heart of yers, that ya love her too.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” said Flint. “Now I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

They continued south until evening came, spotting several stars while the sky changed from blue to indigo. It became windier. A chorus of insects grew. And though still far off, Uluru now loomed twice as big to the riders.

The duo started riding southwest. Night swept over them like a breeze. Although the sun was out of sight, the severe heat persisted. The land remained silent and dreary. For the first time in a long while, being in the Northern Territory disheartened Flint. He strangely began to feel as if he didn’t belong here; yet he had no idea why this feeling came over him. Flint wondered to himself, was this because he was tired? His discomposure, however, dissolved when he saw a lake up ahead.

“As much as I love being out here in the wilds, especially at night, I think we should stop by that billabong and let our horses rest for a few hours,” said Flint.

“Our horses? Hell, what ’bout us?”

“Yeah, I suppose we can get some rest too,” said Flint.

He nudged Donna toward a gulch in which the billabong lay. He then swung down from the saddle and hitched her to a bloodwood tree. Since it was the only one in walking distance, Joey hitched Buddy there too. The horses drank from the water while Joey helped Flint set up camp.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, partner,” replied Joey. He took out some bush tucker and then sat down, eating the fruits while waiting for Flint to start a fire. “We gots plenty of food. Should I give a bit ta tha horses?”

“I’m touched you even thought of them,” said Flint.

Joey shrugged. “Hey, I’m a nice guy.”

“Yes, you are,” said Flint, chafing a stone with twigs until the tinder lit up in a small flame. “They’ll be fine. They can eat grass and drink from the billabong.” He grabbed a few pieces of bush tucker and ate them. “These are really good.”

“I only bring tha best of tha best.”

“That you do, my friend,” said Flint. He finished eating and then lay on a blanket by the fire. He stayed quiet, staring at the clear sky. He was beginning to feel ill-at-ease—a discomfort rising from his subconscious. “Joey,” he called out in a low tone.

“Mmhmm?” he uttered, munching on a piece of fruit.

“Ever get the feeling that you were meant for more?”

“Eh?” said Joey, swallowing prematurely. “Whaddya mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Flint, sighing. “It’s just...I get this weird feeling once in a while that I don’t belong here. It makes me think I was meant for so much more.”

“Kinda like wishin’ ya was married ta that dream girl instead of Amanda?”

“I’m being serious,” said Flint. “Sometimes I feel like something’s missing—as if I left a part of my soul behind somewhere.”

Joey tilted his head. “I could tell ya what I think,” he said. “But I reckon ya don’t wanna hear it.”

“Try me.”

“Easy,” replied Joey. “Yer gettin’ old.” When he said that, Flint’s eyebrows twitched. “It happens ta us all. I’m not as old as ya, but I’m gettin’ there. We all want ta feel accomplished before we go, right?”

Flint kept quiet. He was upset, almost insulted. He knew what Joey said was true. Yet a part of him wanted to shrivel up in shame; instead he took a deep breath and attempted to keep listening.

“It’s obvious yer not happy wit Amanda,” said Joey bluntly. “It’s makin’ ya think ‘bout everythin’ ya done, wonderin’ if things would’ve been different marryin’ another gal.”

“Maybe,” muttered Flint, purposely trying to act unconvinced by Joey’s thoughts even though he knew this was a fact. “I may not be happy with Amanda, but I’ll never regret being a father. Sarah and Tommy are my life now. Still—”

“Come on, Flint,” interrupted Joey. “Yer a great man. There ain’t a lot of people out here who do what yer doin’ fer tha folks in town. Heck, yer even helpin’ those aborigines. Some folks don’t realize it as much as others, but yer tha best ranger we’ve got.”

“It’s a thankless job whenever it comes to Amanda,” said Flint grumpily.

Joey yawned and said, “She’ll come around. Ya just keep being who yer are ’cus they’ll always be people who depend on ya. Even tha Wakaya need ya. Hell, every tribe out here needs ya. And who’s gonna stop Browder if it ain’t us?”

Rubbing his scruffy goatee, Flint nodded.

“But we ain’t gonna stop ’em in this condition,” said Joey. “I reckon we git sum shuteye before ya lose it.”

Flint chuckled softly. “Yeah, I can use a nap.” He noticed that the horses were resting by the murky billabong. He yawned, stretched his arms, and lay on his blanket. “Have a good night, Joey.”

“You too, partner,” he said, turning sidelong and going to sleep.

A few hours passed. The land slowly changed and deformed. The billabong turned into a marsh. The land around Flint became green, filled with life. Even the landscape changed—Uluru no longer stood in the distance. Flint awoke, replaceing himself in a marsh located in Arnhem Land, northern Australia. His garbs were soaking wet since he’d been sleeping in the mire. Rain poured over him while he rose to his feet, confused.

“What the hell?” he said to himself, gazing at the lush terrain.

Joey and the horses were gone. He observed his surroundings carefully, spotting the very familiar Nourlangie Rock—a steep and jagged escarpment that looked like a fortress of nature. Though observing this sacred aboriginal site was incredible, Flint had no clue how he’d gotten here. The rain abruptly ended, and the clouds vanished, as did the black-spotted sun.

“Where did the sun go?” he said, dismayed. “How’s this possible?”

He waded through the marsh while a wedge-tailed eagle flew over him. It squawked, gliding high above. Gazing at the bird, Flint felt as though it were staring at him. The eagle soon faded away, flying to the east. Not a second later, daytime became nighttime. Flint couldn’t see anything except the primordial stars that shimmered in the firmament.

Fixing his eyes on them, he saw one move. Flint watched the star travel. He couldn’t help feel that it symbolized his lost soul. Despite him not knowing how he ended up being here in this region, he felt calm by observing his soul as it began its journey into the unknown. Then the sun abruptly reemerged. When it rose along the hazy horizon, it cast a tremendous flare, vaporizing all life. Flint screamed as his skin melted off his bones.

He woke up screaming, on the verge of having a heart attack. Only six hours had passed, yet he felt that the dream had lasted forever. He was still tired but made do. Joey, on the other hand, awoke and got to his feet in a hurry while aiming his loaded rifle, uneasily scouting the area.

“What in tarnation happened?” asked Joey, distraught.

“Sorry,” said Flint. “It was another one of those dreams.” He sat up on the dirt and took a deep breath. “Sometimes I feel my dreams have a mind of their own.”

Joey looked puzzled by his words, yawning.

“Tell me,” continued Flint, “what do you think the world would’ve been like without those sun flares?”

Sighing with contempt, Joey splashed water on his face. “Civilization’s gone, Flint,” he said dismally. “Try ta think ’bout why we’re out here. Desonas ain’t safe wit Browder on tha loose. It’s why we got our duty. Er, on second thought, yer tha real ranger ‘round these parts. I jus’ help ya when I can.”

Flint accepted Joey’s answer and knew it was true, yet he felt that there was something else. His dreams, he conceded, have been a link to some deep, vague part of his subconscious mind. However, he had no idea why he thought this.

“Thanks for listening,” he said, getting up.

Joey nodded with a suspicious gaze. In the meantime, Flint packed his supplies. About a minute later, however, he stopped and stood stock-still.

“Somethin’ wrong, partne...holy shit.”

Dozens of aboriginals surrounded the camp. They were wielding knives and spears. Their skin was dark, and they had extensive paint on their bodies from head to toe. To Flint, the white paint made them look like skeletons from a distance; and though he felt this made him lack respect—cultural sensitivity to be precise, he nevertheless felt that those few who didn’t have paint resembled brooding demons with the menacing gazes they wore. Utterly speechless, Joey dropped his gun. Flint, meanwhile, lifted his hands in the air.

“King Yeramba,” he called out. “I need to see King Yeramba.”

Most of the aboriginals glanced at one another with ferocious expressions. They walked closer to the duo, pointing their spears at them as if intending to attack. Flint heard aboriginals whispering among themselves but couldn’t understand them. One finally approached, towering over Flint by at least two feet.

“No king. No chief. No tribe. We not like you. We tell Anangu many time. We one people,” said the tall aboriginal.

“My apologies,” replied Flint.

“I am Jatma,” said the tall aboriginal, placing a hand on his chest. “I take you to Yeramba.”

Flint bowed and signaled his comrade to follow, mounting their horses. The duo traveled at a slow pace with the aboriginals. Joey stared at them curiously. Many of them had no facial hair, though some did have thick untamed beards. What became most disturbing to Joey was that each aboriginal had a laced vine necklace on which hung teeth.

“Hey,” whispered Joey, glancing at Flint. “Do ya suppose those teeth on their necks are from animals they hunted?”

“It’s my understanding that before burying their family they remove at least one tooth and keep it for protection.”

“Protection?” said Joey, flinching. “These people need protection?”

Flint noticed his partner wore an aghast expression and could barely keep himself from laughing. “It’s believed that by doing so the spirits of their ancestors will watch over them,” he said, smirking. “Now don’t get all excited on me. This is just wilderness lore.”

“Tch,” muttered Joey. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna scare me.”

Dawn came, and the sun began to rise. In due time, they arrived at Yeramba’s territory. This region was less desolate with hummock-forming spinifex. More aboriginals were in the area, staring at their visitors.

“They don’t look too happy,” said Joey.

“Not with Browder running rampant around here,” replied Flint. “In fact, the aboriginals are probably wondering if we’ve helped him.”

The majority of the aboriginals kept to themselves such as those who played music. Four of them had didgeridoos, playing rhythmic wind sounds in unison while Jatma guided his two visitors through the settlement. Ahead of the aboriginal musicians stood a few naked warriors dancing, incense wafting alongside them.

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Joey, flabbergasted.

“Smoking ceremony,” said Flint. “They’re attempting to ward off evil spirits. It’s usually forbidden for outsides to witness. Things must be really bad if—”

“Anangu,” interjected Jatma, glaring at Flint. “No talk.”

Flint complied. He waited patiently with Joey while the aboriginals danced to their wind music, smoke spreading. Even though Flint had been educated in the ways of the aboriginals, he hadn’t seen an actual ceremony performed before. He was a bit startled at first but appreciated the tribal ritual, unlike Joey who looked dismayed by the dance.

In the meantime, the incense began to waft around them. More aboriginals joined the ceremonious dance and entered a wild trance. They encircled Flint and Joey, chanting in their native tongue.

“Uh,” uttered Joey, slack-jawed, “are they plannin’ ta cook us or something?”

“Patience,” whispered Flint.

Though he wanted to speak with Yeramba, he couldn’t help but feel the need to dance. Flint entered the same wild trance as the aboriginals. They suddenly looked like dark angels to him, glowing with their white paint. They were here to save him from this nightmarish world he lived in. He desperately wanted the trance to last forever; he wanted the dark angels to seize his old soul and resurrect him—to restore him to his former glory. Then he wondered to himself, what resurrection and former glory? Before he could figure this out, his thoughts dwindled, and he broke out of the reverie.

For some reason, Flint couldn’t reenter the spiritual trance. It made him feel uneasy. He desperately wanted to be a part of it—to see the angels again, and to forget Amanda, his old age, and the ruined world. His children were the only reason why he desired to continue existing as Flint Cross. There was a great turmoil within him. He turned, noticing how serene Joey looked. He thought to himself, shouldn’t Joey be the one in turmoil? Flint didn’t have an answer; in fact, he no longer had answers to anything in life. Submerged in depression, he surrendered his inner revolt and simply waited for the dance to finish.

Just then, Flint noticed that the smoke covering the spinifex had begun to fade. When it disappeared, Yeramba became visible. He was naked, covered with exotic stripes of white paint. Sitting on the ground in silence while taking deep breaths, he abruptly opened one eye and glared at Flint like a madman. Then he shut the eye, inhaling smoke. The amount he consumed seemed a bit supernatural to the rangers.

“I fancy smokin’ but goddamn,” said Joey.

Flint kept quiet. Many of the aboriginals were dancing now, including Jatma. The four musicians kept blowing their didgeridoos in unison. Joey was beginning to enjoy hearing each sound they created from their instruments.

“Sit with me, Anangu,” Yeramba finally said, his voice deep and loud. Flint obeyed, walking uphill with Joey. “Alone,” he added sternly.

Hearing the aboriginal’s tone of voice, Joey gulped heavily and stepped back. In the meantime, Flint warily approached Yeramba and sat opposite him.

“You go into the dreaming,” said Yeramba.

“I have no idea what you mean,” said Flint.

“Ah,” said Yeramba, blowing smoke from his nostrils. “You think it coincidence to be here?”

Flint questioningly stared at him.

“Altjira has spoken,” went on Yeramba, pointing skyward. “You come help, but no help if not align with spirits. Much help needed. Earth become ill by Wanambi’s wild demon. Even mighty sun, created by Altjira, become corrupt. Dreamtime is same.”

Listening to the aboriginal leader, Flint experienced another eerie flash of self-revelation; he had a bizarre feeling he’d forgotten something long ago that was imperative to remember. Yet nothing seemed logical about it.

“I’m here to stop the wild demon,” said Flint. “But I am troubled. I can’t seem to shake off this feeling that I don’t belong here. Can you help me?”

“Dreamtime is answer,” said Yeramba. “I help you go into Altjira’s realm, Anangu. But first prove yourself. You same as Salomon. Though this not enough. Salomon is white soul; you is murky soul. Murky confuse me, and that cause trouble.”

“What must I do to enter this dreamtime and remember?” asked Flint.

“Dreamtime source of creation, Anangu,” said Yeramba. “It is birth and death—endless cycle in reincarnation. We enter and return to dreaming.” Yeramba placed his bullroarer on top of a stone slab beside him and stayed quiet for a moment while Flint pondered whether Yeramba was insane. “Maybe you a dingo or goanna in the dreaming.”

Yeramba momentarily opened his eyes and blew powder into Flint’s face, making him cough violently.

“Ah, you is white dingo.”

“What the hell did you just do to me?” scowled Flint, continuing to cough.

“Spirits,” said Yeramba. “They protect Anangu. Return if stop Wanambi’s wild demon and defeat him. Remember dreamtime. Spirits split over sun’s illness—held in dreamtime past Alchera. Only if Altjira happy are souls awaken and heal.”

“King Yeramba,” began Flint, “do you at least know where this wild demon is?”

“No king,” said Yeramba. “I told Anangu I no king. We all messenger of Altjira. We all have dreamtime. To answer question: let spirits guide you. Wanambi hides. Wild demon face us. Find him at rock of creation.”

“Thank you,” said Flint. He rose to his feet and tipped his hat even though Yeramba had his eyes closed. “May the spirits protect you and your people.” He walked downhill and rejoined Joey. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait,” he said. “What did that old coot say?”

“A bunch of gibberish,” replied Flint, walking toward his horse. “The only thing he said that made sense, or at least I think so, was the rock of creation.” He then pointed at Uluru, which stood miles away from them. “Browder is probably hiding somewhere there.”

“Huh, I reckon tha shaman ain’t as mad as tha marshal claimed.”

“Trust me, what Salomon claimed isn’t far from the truth,” said Flint. He mounted Donna and went on, “It’s just that he hasn’t lost all his screws yet.”

Joey laughed, scaling his horse. “I’m glad yer not gonna convert ’n run ’round naked.”

“Hilarious,” said Flint, giving a smile that lasted quicker than a flicker of lightning.

Clearing his throat, Joey asked, “Just us then, eh? No back up now that we know where Browder is?”

“Just us.”

He tugged Donna’s reins, making her gallop fast. Within seconds they were away from Yeramba’s tribe, traveling closer toward the gargantuan rock formation known as Uluru. It was yet another hot morning. The sky was fairly clear with only a few clouds above. Upon looking east, Flint spotted an emu in the spinifex. The flightless brown-feathered bird stared at him when he passed by it.

Looking farther ahead, he saw Kata Tjuta’s domed formation in the western region of the Northern Territory; though, it was quite far from his position. The ground was evermore dry and almost as red as Uluru. A big lizard lay still while the duo rode through the semi-desert land.

“That’s a big mama,” said Joey.

“Yeah,” agreed Flint. He recalled Yeramba suggesting that he could’ve been a goanna in the dreamtime as he glanced at the laced lizard. It swiftly slithered and scuttled away. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one.”

They finally reached Australia’s greatest landmark. Uluru—Ayer’s Rock—had become a god among rocks, enduring Earth’s primeval age without any marks of separation. Despite how mesmerizing Uluru looked, Flint wore a grim expression. He saw a cluster of bodies near one of the climbing areas.

“My God!” he cried out.

Flint dismounted Donna and rushed to aid the aboriginals. But it was too late; they were dead—gunshot wounds all over their twisted, stiffened bodies. Joey swung down his horse and joined Flint, gently patting his shoulder. He remained quiet, staring at the corpses.

“I was told long ago that the indigenous Australians used to refer to us as drifters of the world,” said Flint, his face pale. “When the sun destroyed our land, we drifted like lost souls on Earth, desperately looking for a home. Then we invaded their territory. It took decades for the tribes to change and call us Anangu. This meant that we’d finally earned their trust.” His fingers curled into fists as he added, “And now Browder is destroying that trust.” Confused and furious, he asked, “Why is he doing this?”

“Only way we gonna know fer sure is ta replace ’em,” said Joey, grabbing his Winchester rifle and cocking it. “Though, I reckon we shoot as soon as we git sight of ’em or his band of maniacs; that is, if he has a bunch of cronies wit him.”

“Right,” said Flint warily. He hesitated, wondering which weapon to use. After thinking about it, he removed the magnum that he’d sneakily taken from the gun shop. He noticed Joey’s slack-jawed face and couldn’t help but grin. “Sorry, pal, you know how much I love these kinds of guns.”

“That ain’t no gun,” said Joey. “As the aborigines would say, it’s a damn demon. Try not ta lose yer head wit it.”

“Relax,” said Flint, observing the area. “Let’s split up. I’ll take this path. You go around and flank him.”

“What if there’s nobody ta flank?”

“Then we wait,” replied Flint.

Joey agreed and sprinted as quietly as he could to the eastern side of Uluru. Upon seeing him leave, Flint started to ascend Uluru. The sun shone on Ayer’s Rock, making it dangerously hot; however, Flint barely paid mind to the heat. His brown leather gloves helped him avoid getting burned while climbing Uluru’s reddish granite. The only thing on his mind was the fate of the aboriginals.

“Damn it, Browder,” he said to himself. “How could you kill them? Why?”

He soon approached a bluff that brought him to a wide area with two passages. The path on the left led to Uluru’s peak while the right led to a cavern. Flint cautiously entered the dark cave. Fortunately for him, the sun gave him more than enough light to see. He saw a few petroglyphs inside the cavern. Some were illustrations of aboriginals dancing while others depicted them hunting animals such as bustards and kangaroos—at least this was how Flint interpreted the petroglyphs.

Captivated by the rock carvings, he’d forgotten to check the cave for signs of Browder or any possible goons. Luckily for him, no one was hiding inside. He exited the cave and took the other path. It was a narrow ridge, so Flint walked carefully. In due time, he reached halfway up the mountainous rock. A perentie lizard stood on a boulder; it was standing on its hind legs. As soon as it saw Flint, however, it scuttled away.

No one seemed to be on Uluru other than Flint and some wild animals. He nevertheless watched his back to make sure he wasn’t being flanked by Browder. Although the heat didn’t bother Flint, the sun’s glare prevented him from looking skyward. The brim of his hat helped, but it wasn’t enough. He eventually investigated a passage more shaded than others. Reaching a dead end, he sighed and took a deep breath.

Flint was about to give up searching Uluru when he heard a cluster of pebbles fall from above. At first he thought another animal scuttled like the perentie; then he noticed a humanoid shadow appear. He leaned against the jagged wall and stood still on the rickety trail, waiting for the shadow to move away. Upon gazing outward, he noticed the barren expanse below. Once again, Flint experienced an irrational feeling that made him question everything he knew from the environment to his very existence. His life suddenly became fictitious. Everything around him felt surreal and fake.

“This must be the effects of Yeramba’s powder,” he muttered. Pausing for a moment, he rethought what he’d just said. “No, that’s not true. I’ve had this feeling before.”

Snapping out of his eerie daydreaming, he found himself by the ledge. He turned around, realizing the humanoid shadow had vanished. Upon looking at the cliff above, however, he saw one of Browder’s men walking away. He aimed his magnum at the goon and shot him without hesitation. The bullet blew off the outlaw’s right arm and shoulder, causing him to scream and fall down from the edge, smashing against rocks. Normally, the backfire of a magnum would have jolted its wielder, yet Flint didn’t even budge. He acknowledged this, wondering why it hadn’t affected him. Nevertheless, he was impressed.

Flint had no idea how to gain higher ground other than rock climbing, so he holstered his weapon and climbed Uluru. The gloves he wore continued to protect his hands from the heat. He thought having them on might make it harder to free climb, but he didn’t slip or have any trouble scaling the fiery-tinged rock. In fact, Flint climbed so fast that he reached the summit in a matter of minutes.

It was already early afternoon by the time Flint reached Uluru’s peak. He lifted himself and rose to his feet, unexpectedly standing before Browder and his goons. They were glaring at him, hands hovering over their holsters. Oddly, Flint didn’t feel threatened despite the fact that seven outlaws were about to shoot him. Instead he glared at Browder with utter hatred. With the exception of Browder, the small posse looked young. Browder appeared to be the only one who was around Flint’s age. Yet he was clean shaven and clad in tattered garbs.

“Andrew Browder,” said Flint. “It’s been a long time. And honestly, I never thought I’d see your face again.”

“Commandant?” said Browder, astonished. “Is it really you?”

Flint’s grimace was wiped away, replaced by a baffled expression. “Commandant?” he replied in a perplexed tone. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t remember?” asked Browder. “No, of course you don’t.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Browder?” said Flint, his hand moving closer to his single-action revolver. “You have murdered countless aboriginals for no reason! Are you planning to attack Desonas next?”

“Of course I am,” answered Browder.

“Then it’s as Marshal Salomon had suspected,” said Flint.

“Salomon’s just a pawn!” exclaimed Browder.

“A pawn?” responded Flint, even more confused. “I don’t know how you’ve gained such a large supply of ammunition to kill the aboriginals and wage war against Desonas, but whatever you’ve planned ends today, Browder. I’m afraid you’ll either have to surrender now or face the consequences.”

“Who the fuck is this old man?” asked one of the goons.

“Steer your hand, Landers,” replied Browder. “This is Etha—I mean, this is Flint Cross we’re talking to. He’s different from the others out here. We’re no match for him.”

“I’d listen to him if I were you,” said Flint.

“You’re joking,” said Landers, laughing loudly. The other gunmen laughed with him. In the meantime, Flint’s fingers drew closer to his revolver’s handle. “It’s seven to one,” went on Landers. “This old fogy can’t do anything.”

Flint pulled out his single-action gun and, cocking the revolver, shot all six of Browder’s comrades. There used to be a theory stating that nothing was faster than the speed of light; Flint, however, put that theory to the test. Landers didn’t even have a chance to remove the smug look on his face. He lay dead with a contorted smile, along with his companions. Browder, who had his arms in the air, was the only one left standing.

“Don’t shoot!” he pleaded.

“Browder,” began Flint, “there’s only one reason why you’re still alive, and it’s because my gun only has six chambers.” He put his revolver away while simultaneously taking out his double-action magnum, aiming it at Browder. “But this one’s loaded. And forgive me for being a bit anxious, but I’m rather itching to hear the sound it makes again. Start talking, and maybe I’ll reconsider using it. Why have you killed the Wakaya?”

“You’d be doing the same if you remembered.”

“That’s not an answer,” said Flint, shooting Browder’s hat off. Once again, he felt the gun’s recoil but didn’t budge. Browder, on the other hand, cringed and showed his palms.

“Don’t kill me!” he shrieked.

“I’m losing my patience,” said Flint. “Give me an answer.”

“You think you’re in control?” replied Browder, rising and gazing at Flint harshly. “Not even Salomon’s in control! It’s all a sick game! Everything! And the worse thing is that there’s not much I can do about it. But with you? Yes, with you there’s a chance to leave this forsaken rock. We can work together like the old days.”

“The old days?”

“Yes, you even saved my life once,” said Browder. “I told you that I’d replace a way to repay you. It’s the only reason why I’m still here. How could you forget? Commandant, you must remember.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” scowled Flint.

“Do you actually think you’re a cowboy?” said Browder. He laughed hysterically while observing Flint’s clothes. “You’re in the wrong era, pal. I can help you remember everything. We can still win the war and get back our freedom. But first you have to stop eating the greens; then you’ll—”

Browder’s head suddenly burst with blood and brains. Flint wore a ghastly expression as he saw the outlaw get blown away. He winced and aimed his gun past Browder’s body, spotting Joey who had been creeping up on Browder for quite some time. Joey lifted his Winchester rifle, relieved.

“What the hell did you just do?” yelled Flint.

“What I came here ta do,” answered Joey, startled.

Flint irrationally ran over to Browder, hoping he was still alive; however, seeing a lifeless body with a pool of blood brought him back to reality.

“Tha man was a complete lunatic, Flint,” explained Joey. “He could’ve caught ya off guard ’n shot ya!”

“I had everything under control!” shouted Flint, enraged. His head throbbing, he pressed the magnum’s cylinder against the temple of his head while he said, “I failed you…just as I’ve failed Hamarah.”

“What did you just say?” asked Joey in a tone of disbelief, his accent a bit off.

Flint tensed up, gawking at what remained of Browder’s face. Not even he remembered what he’d just said—or at least the latter of what he’d said. Flint took a deep breath, rising back to his feet.

“I had everything under control,” he repeated.

“No, after that,” said Joey, suspiciously gaping into Flint’s eyes.

The throbbing pain in Flint’s head worsened. It was so horrible that he could hardly see anything. He felt as if Yeramba had blown another dose of powder into his coarse face. Covered with sweat, his heart pounded. His panting became heavy—too heavy. A drop of blood trickled from his nose. Joey’s voice sounded like gibberish as he gazed at the hazy vista. Then the pain abruptly subsided, Flint feeling normal again.

“Forget it,” he muttered, wiping his nose. “I’m sorry I got upset.”

Joey eased up, putting his rifle away.

“Browder’s insanity got the best of me, that’s all,” said Flint. “You did the right thing. I told you to flank him, and we agreed to shoot on sight.”

“Right,” said Joey warily. “Well, let’s git tha hell outta here, partner.”

The duo carefully descended Uluru. They were quiet most of the way back home. Flint’s mind, however, had never been more cluttered with outlandish thoughts. Even though Browder and his posse had killed innocent aboriginals, Flint couldn’t help but ponder what the outlaw had meant by calling him Commandant. He wondered about what he may have forgotten. And if he did in fact forget something, was it significant? Or did Browder simply feed him lies in a vain attempt to survive?

More absurd was that Browder had told him to stop eating the greens. In folded palms, he held his remaining bush tucker as he rode back home, trying to figure out why Browder had told him to stop eating them. He didn’t know what to do, so he slipped the bush tucker back into his pocket and kept quiet while following Joey. He had no logical answers to the questions plaguing him; though, somewhere deep down inside his gut, he had a feeling they would be answered one day, and that such explanations wouldn’t be what he’d be hoping to discover.