Chapter 4

The three of them made their way through the road, the whispers of the Annawans following them like a soft breeze. The warmth of the morning sun chased away the last of the chill from the night’s adventure, and Donald felt a newfound energy within him. He looked down at Dork, the donkey’s eyes filled with an understanding that went beyond words. They had made a vow to protect Mrs. Yates, and Donald knew that he would honor it with every fiber of his being.

In the distance, the skeletal remains of a town loomed against the horizon. “Crow’s Tusk,” Dork murmured, his eyes narrowing as they approached. The once-bustling town was now a ghostly testament to the harsh realities of the West. The sign at the entrance swung lazily on its single chain, the words ‘Zero Population’ etched into the plank with a cruel finality.

Matilda looked around nervously, her hand tightening on Donald’s arm. “Is this where we’re going to hide?” she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of doubt.

“For now,” Donald assured her, his eyes scanning the abandoned buildings of Crow’s Tusk. The town looked as if it had been abandoned in a hurry, with doors hanging open and windows shattered. The only sound was the mournful creaking of the saloon’s swinging doors.

They moved swiftly, taking refuge in what had once been the local general store. The shelves were bare, the floor littered with debris and dust. The faint scent of rotting food and stale tobacco hung in the air, a ghostly reminder of better days.

“We need to find higher ground,” Dork spoke into Donald’s mind, his eyes scanning the desolate street. “A place where we can keep an eye on whoever might be following us.”

They made their way through the empty streets, the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the saloon’s wooden planks and the crumbling adobe walls of the abandoned buildings. As they approached the center of town, a two-story hotel stood tall, its once grandiose facade now a faded memory. The windows were shuttered, the balconies sagging, and the paint peeling away like the layers of an old man’s skin.

“The Hotel de la Muerte,” Dork murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate with the very air around them. “It’s said that no one who enters there leaves the same.”

Matilda’s eyes widened, her grip on Donald’s arm tightening. “Is it ... haunted?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the creaking of the wind.

Dork let out a soft snort. “Only by the past,” he said, his gaze never leaving the hotel. “But it’s solid, and it’ll give us the vantage we need.”

The Hotel de la Muerte loomed before them, a stark silhouette against the lightening sky. The paint on its sign was peeling, and the wooden structure groaned under the weight of years of neglect. The balconies looked ready to crumble under the touch of a feather, and the windows were shuttered tight, their glass long ago shattered by the merciless winds of the desert.

“This place gives me the willies,” Matilda whispered, her eyes darting around the abandoned street.

Dork’s eyes remained on the hotel. “The room we seek is on the second floor, third from the left,” he instructed, his voice filled with an otherworldly confidence.

Together, they approached the creaking structure, the hotel’s ominous reputation doing little to deter Donald’s resolve. The spirit of Weayaya burned bright within him, and he knew that this was where they needed to be.

Inside, the hotel was a mausoleum of lost dreams. The lobby was cluttered with dusty furniture, the once-plush couches now home to generations of rodents. The stairs creaked with every step, each groan a testament to the weight of time.

On the second floor, they found the room with the missing roof. The moon had set, leaving the sky a canvas of twinkling stars. Yet, amidst the decay, there was a certain beauty in the destruction. The room itself was empty, save for a single chair that looked as though it had been left in a hurry.

But Dork had led them here for a reason. In the corner, they discovered a small chamber with a single window, the glass shimmering in the predawn light. It faced the direction they had come from, offering a perfect view of the main road leading into town.

They settled in, the floorboards protesting beneath them as they moved. Donald pulled the chair to the window, offering it to Matilda. “Keep watch,” he instructed gently, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of pursuers.

Matilda nodded, her hand trembling slightly as she took the chair. She sat down, her eyes never leaving the window, the tension in the room thick as the dust that coated everything. Dork curled up beside her, his body a comforting presence as the first rays of sun began to spill over the horizon.

The room was sparse, but it was better than the open desert. Donald pulled out the gold they had salvaged from the bandit’s camp and laid it out before them. “We’ll need supplies,” he said, his voice firm. “Food, water, and a way to get to Stalescar without being seen.”

Matilda nodded, her eyes never leaving the window. “I can help,” she offered, her voice steady despite the fear that still lingered in her eyes. “I know some people who might be willing to trade for the gold.”

The light grew stronger, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind through the broken glass. Yet, amidst the ruin and decay, there was a sense of purpose that bound the three of them together.