Chapter 1 - The Architecture of Silence
The wind did not blow in this town.
It scraped.
It carried microscopic grains of crushed quartz and dried alkali, dragging them across the wooden planks of the boardwalk like sandpaper.
Every surface wore a coat of this pale, dead earth.
The hitching posts were gray.
The glass windows of the closed bank were opaque.
Even the sky seemed to have lost its blue, bleached into a harsh, unforgiving white by the midday sun.
Silas stood at the edge of the thoroughfare.
His boots were planted shoulder-width apart, pressing flat into the wagon ruts.
The leather of his boots was scarred, deep gouges cutting through the polish, filled with the same suffocating dust.
He didn't move his head.
He only moved his eyes.
The street was entirely empty, save for two small shapes standing near the wall of the saloon.
The heat radiating from the ground bent the air around them.
It made them look like mirages, fragile things that might evaporate if a cloud ever decided to cross the sun.
Silas felt the weight of his iron on his right hip.
It was a heavy, cold comfort, but completely useless against the kind of quiet that had swallowed this town.
He shifted his weight.
His spurs gave a dull, choked rattle.
The sound did not echo.
May you like
The dust swallowed it whole.
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