Dustwater Creek
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Chapter 6: The Shadow
The night was unusually still, the kind of still that carried a warning in the West. Dustwater Creek slept under a pale moon, the wind whispering through the streets like an uninvited guest. Upstairs, in her small room above the Rusted Spur Saloon, Lysandra Bale lay surrounded by pillows, blankets, and her carefully secured splints. Her feet had been massaged earlier, her muscles eased slightly, yet she was aware of every ache, every twitch, every tension in her body.
Harlan Pike’s shadow moved across the room, checking the splints once more. The other men had taken up positions at the window and door, restless, glancing into the darkness. Lysandra watched, calm but alert, eyes sharp and calculating despite the pain that seared through her pelvis.
“Something’s out there,” one whispered, voice low and tense.
Lysandra’s head lifted slightly, copper hair falling around her face. “Describe it,” she said, her voice firm. “Every detail matters.”
“They ... they’re moving fast,” another said. “Could be bandits. Could be drifters. Whatever it is, it’s not friendly.”
She closed her eyes briefly, tasting the fear in the room like a bitter herb. Pain clawed at her body, but she ignored it, focusing instead on strategy. “Listen carefully,” she rasped. “We cannot leave. You cannot scatter. One mistake, one rash move, and we’re finished. Stay calm. Follow my directions exactly.”
Harlan knelt beside her bed, checking the splints one last time. “You ... you’ll be safe here?” he asked quietly.
“I’ll be as safe as a woman strapped to a bed can be,” she replied, voice taut. “And you will keep me that way. Keep the room secure, barricade the door if you must. Listen to every sound. Signal me if anything moves.”
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