Zeke came to with the taste of dust in his mouth and the burn of sun on his face.
He didn't move at first. Every muscle screamed in protest, his ribs felt like they'd been rattled loose, and his head throbbed in a slow, pounding rhythm. The ground beneath him was warm—too warm—and soft in a way that didn't match the hard desert he'd been riding through only… hell, he couldn't even tell how long ago.
When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw wasn't the ground or the sky, but the horizon. An endless sea of grass rolled out in every direction, the blades swaying in a wind he couldn't feel on his skin. They weren't quite the right shade either—more silver than green, catching the light in a way that made the land shimmer.
Then he looked up.
Two suns hung in the sky.
One sat high, white and sharp, like the West Texas sun he knew too well. The other, lower and redder, hovered just above the edge of the world, casting a bloody haze over the silver grass.
Zeke blinked hard, rubbed at his eyes. Still there. Still wrong.
"Son of a…"
He pushed himself upright, the world tilting under him. His hat was gone. His canteen too. He checked his hip—Colt was still there. The weight of it was a small comfort, a reminder that no matter where the hell he'd landed, he wasn't defenseless.
Then he noticed what wasn't there.
The fugitive.
The wiry bastard he'd been chasing through the storm was nowhere in sight. Not even a trail in the grass.
But there was a sound—sharp, uneven—hoofbeats.
Zeke turned and saw her. Dusty. His mare. She stood a dozen yards away, flanks heaving, nostrils flared wide. Her eyes rolled white, ears twitching, the leather reins hanging loose. She looked like she'd just run through fire.
"Easy, girl," Zeke murmured, pushing to his feet. His legs protested, but he forced them to move.
Dusty sidestepped, snorting, tail flicking at nothing.
That's when he noticed the silence.
No birds. No wind. No insect buzz. The kind of silence that pressed in, made the air feel thick in his lungs.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
Dusty's ears locked forward. Zeke followed her gaze.
Something moved in the grass.
At first, he thought it was a regular coyote—low, quick, slipping between the blades like a shadow. Then it lifted its head, and the sunlight caught the curve of horns sprouting from its skull. Not antlers, not exactly. More like twisted, bone-white ridges curling back over its ears.
Its eyes glowed faint yellow, pupils vertical slits.
Zeke froze, hand resting on the Colt's grip. The creature tilted its head in a way no coyote ever did, as if studying him. Then its lips pulled back, revealing too many teeth.
It stepped forward.
Dusty backed away, trembling.
"Alright, friend," Zeke muttered, voice low, "let's not make this our first bad introduction."
The thing didn't care. It kept moving, slow, deliberate, its gaze fixed on him. Another shape moved in the grass to his left. Then another behind him.
Three of them now, circling.
The first lunged.
Zeke drew and fired in one smooth motion. The crack of the shot shattered the silence, the muzzle flash burning bright in the double sunlight.
The bullet hit—he saw it, dead-on to the chest. But instead of tearing flesh, it sparked midair, like it had struck glass, and ricocheted harmlessly into the grass.
Zeke stared, the gun still smoking in his hand.
The horned coyote didn't even flinch.
It growled, a sound that was more like stone grinding against stone, and the other two creatures joined in.
Dusty reared, kicking wildly.
Zeke fired again, aiming for the head. Same result—spark, bounce, nothing.
"Well, that's new," he muttered through clenched teeth.
The first creature lunged again, faster this time. Zeke sidestepped, the horns missing him by inches. He slammed the butt of the Colt into its jaw, feeling the jarring impact travel up his arm. The beast staggered but didn't fall.
Its eyes narrowed.
The other two closed in.
Zeke backed toward Dusty, keeping the gun up though it felt useless now. His boots sank slightly into the grass—so soft it was like walking on a mattress. Every step felt heavier, like the ground wanted to pull him down.
The creatures moved with a strange coordination, their horns glinting under both suns.
One snapped at Dusty's flank. The mare squealed and kicked, catching it in the shoulder. It rolled, twisted, came up on its feet again without a sound.
Zeke pulled himself into the saddle in one motion, yanking the reins. "Go!"
Dusty bolted, the silver grass parting in waves as they tore through it.
The creatures followed.
They didn't bark, didn't howl—just ran, their movements unnervingly smooth, closing the gap no matter how hard Dusty pushed herself.
Zeke risked a glance back. The red sun was dipping lower, staining the horizon deeper, and with every inch it sank, the beasts' eyes seemed to burn brighter.
The ground ahead dipped into a shallow gully. Zeke steered Dusty down it, hoping to break their line of sight. For a moment, it worked—he couldn't hear them behind him.
Then one dropped from the ridge above, landing directly in their path.
Dusty skidded, nearly throwing Zeke.
The beast lowered its head, horns forward.
Zeke raised the Colt, knowing damn well the bullet wouldn't pierce whatever invisible shield they had—but aiming anyway.
He fired.
The shot rang out, echoing strangely in the gully.
The bullet sparked… and this time, didn't bounce.
It dissolved in midair, scattering into a fine mist before it even reached the creature.
Zeke's heart sank.
The beast took a step forward.
Dusty's muscles bunched under him, ready to bolt sideways.
The other two appeared on the ridges, cutting off escape.
Three against one.
Zeke adjusted his grip, the weight of the gun suddenly feeling like nothing at all.
The lead beast roared—a sound so deep it rattled his teeth—and leapt.
Zeke yanked Dusty hard to the right. Her hooves dug into the grass, kicking up silver dust. They barely missed the horns, but the momentum carried them into the side of the gully. The mare scrambled, finding purchase, and shot up the incline.
The beasts gave chase, their bodies flowing over the uneven terrain like water over rocks.
Zeke could feel Dusty's labored breathing beneath him. She wouldn't last long at this pace.
He scanned the horizon—nothing but grass, grass, and more grass. No trees, no rocks, nowhere to put his back against and fight.
Then he saw it.
A shape in the distance. Angular. Metallic.
It didn't belong here, just like he didn't.
"Hang on, girl," Zeke urged, steering toward it.
As they drew closer, the shape resolved into something that looked halfway between a barn and a fortress—tall sloping walls of black metal, seamless, with no visible doors or windows. The surface pulsed faintly, like it was breathing.
The beasts didn't slow.
Dusty reached the structure first, skidding to a halt at its base. Zeke jumped down, scanning for any opening. His palm pressed against the cold surface, and a circle of light bloomed beneath his hand.
A seam split open silently, revealing a narrow corridor lit by a soft blue glow.
The beasts were almost on them.
Zeke yanked Dusty inside. The moment they crossed the threshold, the seam closed.
Silence again.
Zeke leaned against the wall, breathing hard, Dusty's sides heaving. The corridor smelled faintly of ozone and something sweet he couldn't place.
Then the wall ahead shifted.
A figure stepped out—tall, humanoid, draped in flowing cloth that shimmered like oil on water. Its face was hidden beneath a smooth, featureless mask.
It raised a hand.
Zeke's Colt flew from his grip, spinning in the air, and landed neatly in the figure's palm.
The mask tilted, studying him.
When it spoke, the voice was like two people talking at once—one low, one high.
"You do not belong under the two suns."
Before Zeke could answer, the floor dropped away beneath his feet.