The boy walked up to a payphone, his bloodied hand gripping the receiver. He fumbled with the coins, sliding them into the slot. The metal clinked against the mechanism.
In the distance the sun was rising as he lifted the receiver to his ear. His red-stained fingers leaving streaks on the handle. The saloon was empty after he told everybody to leave—he even had to force people to leave; that's why one of the windows at the saloon is shattered.
The line faintly crackled.
"Hello? This the Bureau?" He said, leaning his back against the wall.
"Yes, please state your name and purpose."
"Uhh… right… Names… uh… Amos."
"Surname?"
"Just Amos."
The lady on the line paused for a second, then the click-clack keyboard went click-clacking.
"Amos… You aren't in the ranger database."
"...It's my first day… I was trying to head east towards New York till I got held up here… at… gimme a sec… Clearwater"
"Amos, I need to verify your identity as a ranger."
Amos groaned, "And how long will that take?"
"Thirty minutes."
"The Fu—Why?!"
"I have to speak to my superiors in order to verify that you are indeed a ranger."
Amos sat down on the steps next to him, pulling the receiver. "Lady, I'm hungry, and Im 'bout piss my pants, and—mind you—there are two corpses on the second floor of the saloon, and one of them is a damn demoniac!"
The lady on the line sighed; though it was very quiet, he heard it. "Sir, calm yourself. Till then, hold the line and stay on site."
He sighed "Fine. Make it quick."
The line went dead.
"Ughh…"
Amos let the receiver drop, laying down on the wood.
He turned his head left, watching the sun rise.
"In the meantime I need'ta piss," he said, getting up.
Thirty minutes later he's back at the phone. The line started crackling.
"Hello?"
"Yes, Amos?"
"We've confirmed your credentials with headquarters and rangers are now en route to your locat—"
"Thanks, bye!"
He slammed the receiver back to the payphone, hearing what he had to hear, shutting her up.
"Jesus, her voice was annoying." He sat back down, waiting for the rangers to arrive.
Fifteen minutes later the sun had risen up, and the air still smelled a little like blood and whiskey. But the streets were starting to wake. Doors creaked open and shutters lifted.
A few curious faces peeked out.
"Everthin' fine now?" a curious face asked. The rest were too scared or nervous to ask and pretended nothing happened.
"Oh yeah, everthin' is dandy! Just, uh… your sheriff and some whore are still dead upstairs in the saloon…" Amos said, waving them off.
"Oh…" The curious face didn't look so curious anymore.
Amos leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at the dust between his boots.
Then came the hoofbeats.
He stood up, brushing his coat down.
A few seconds later, three riders appeared through the glare of the sunrise—the three riders in long and clean trench coats with silver badges catching the light. Their horses kicking up small clouds
The man in lead was tall and worn-looking; you could tell by the gray hairs in his hair. On his back was a big sword holstered.
"You Amos?"
"Yeah," Amos said, his voice flat. "You the welcoming committee?"
The old ranger didn't laugh. "The B.O.A. sent word. Said you were new. Rare for a recruit to already be killing demons, especially a demoniac. How'd you sniff a Demoniac out?"
He tapped his nose, smirking. "My nose is pretty good!"
The old ranger let out a huffed laugh through his nose.
Amos stayed silent for a moment. "So…uh… what now?"
The ranger swung down from his horse, his boots thudding on the dirt.
"Now…?" The old ranger adjusted his hat. "We clean up the mess, burn the bodies, place some crosses, and sanctify the ground so there won't be trouble for a while. And as for you…"
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You best keep movin' east. Head to the station, then show this to a ticket agent." He passed me a brass coin with the bureau's logo on it.
The old ranger grabbed his horse's lead rope, turning and stepping toward the hitching post. "Good luck, recruit."
Amos gave a lazy salute; he thought it felt right. He could also tell that this old ranger was very strong.
Then he realized something.
"Err… One minute, mister…!" Amos said, his face a little flustered.
The old ranger stopped mid-step, letting out a slow exhale from his nose, then turning without a word.
"I… er… don't got a horse."
The old ranger didn't have to say anything for a much younger ranger to step up; as he was stepping up, he snorted and spat on the dirt. "Newbloods…" he muttered.
He was barely more than twenty, though Amos was a lot younger.
Amos looked around seventeen.
The young ranger was eager, too eager for his own good; the only notable thing about him was his clean shave.
"Welp… C'mon," The young ranger gestured to follow him.
Amos reluctantly followed and clicked his tongue, but the young ranger didn't hear.
"Say howdy to Puddin'," the young ranger said, patting his horse before unhitching and then jumping on.
"...Howdy, Puddin'." Amos said while hopping on the back.
Pudding then immediately took off, making Amos nearly fall off.
They rode east along the dirt road, the town of Clearwater shrinking behind them until it became a smudge in the haze.
"My name's Gideon!" he said, his eyes on the road.
"Amos!"
"It's a pleasure to meet ya Amos!"
After that they both stayed quiet, but Gideon kept glancing at Amos with this confused look in his eye.
"Hey Amos, I gotta question!"
"What?!"
"You a sonny or a girlie?! cuz I can't tell!"
Amos nearly choked on his own breath. "What?!"
Gideon grinned, not bothering to look back. "You heard me! You got the looks of a gal—a pretty one at that, haha! and the voice of one!"
Amos's face went red instantly. "I'm a boy, you idiot!" He barked, tightening his grip so he wouldn't fall. "You need proof!? cuz I can show you!"
Gideon let out a loud laugh "Easy! There ain't no shame in lookin' pretty! Hell, you're lucky I mean… I look like a goddamn haystack… whatever the hell that means."
Amos rolled his eyes. "You talk too damn much."
"Yup!" Gideon replied without shame, "I gotta another question!"
"Jesus Christ…"
"Why do ya keep your left eye closed?!"
Amos stiffened a little, his fingers tightening around Gideon's coat. "What's it to you?!"
Gideon chuckled, unbothered. "Nothin', just curious is all. You been ridin' with that eye shut since we left town. Figured maybe you was blind in it."
Amos scoffed. "I ain't blind."
"So what then?" Gideon pressed, leaning forward a bit on the saddle as if that'd make Amos spill somehow.
Amos stayed quiet for a stretch. The wind cut between them and the horse clopping beneath them.
Finally Amos muttered, "It hurts when I keep it open too long."
Gideon knew he was an idiot, but he could tell when to shut up about something.