Chapter 6 - The Broken Barrel
Between Silas and the children sat a wooden barrel.
The iron hoops binding the oak staves were thick with bright orange rust.
The wood itself was splintered, dried out by a decade of relentless sun, the top half entirely rotted away.
Inside the barrel, there was no water.
There was no whiskey.
It was filled to the brim with heavy, jagged dry rocks and clumps of hard, gray dirt.
It was a dead thing, holding more dead things.
Silas kept his eyes leveled over the rim of the barrel.
It acted as a border line.
His side. Their side.
The shadow of the building behind them began to stretch.
The wooden facade was weathered gray, the planks warping and pulling away from the square nails.
Above their heads, a large wooden sign hung from a single rusted chain.
LUCKY STAR SALOON.
The paint had blistered and peeled away, leaving only the faint, ghostly impression of the letters.
The star painted next to the words was completely gone.
Luck had left this street a long time ago.
May you like
Only the dust remained.
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