Dahn

I walked an unmade path to the town of Dahn, two full weeks from anything else. Dahn could hardly be called a town. It was a gathering of cracked clay huts, numbering less than ten, surrounding a structure made of wood and nails. I wondered where they brought that in from; there couldn't have been trees this far out in the Sea of Dust.

It was no surprise to me, however, that this wooden building, the best-constructed in Dahn, was the bar.

The townspeople, few that there were, greeted me with curious indecision and heavy guardedness. They stared at the tough leather duster that hung over a tawny leather vest and a worn white shirt. Their gaze lowered to the holstered revolver that lay at my left hip, over black hide pants. Their eyes were caught by the reflective gleam of the bandolier strap I wore over my chest, also serving to keep my backpack securely fastened.

Perhaps what most astonished them was that I was a woman. Apparently they hadn't seen any female wanderers lately.

Ignoring the stares, I made my way to the saloon, black boots stirring up dust on the ground, more than whatever breeze that could reach this town. The bar couldn't have looked more generic, but was welcoming enough. A faded crimson sign hang over the main entrance, declaring in a yellowing script that this was indeed the saloon. Echoes of slow piano music drifted out on the lonely air, voicing how desolate and alone this town was in its subtle harmonies.

My right hand reached out and pushed one of the swing doors open, the groan alerting the few people inside that someone new had come to town. Card games stopped and the music slowed to a halt as these simple townspeople debated in their minds whether or not I was about to disrupt their afternoon. I spared them no glance as I walked over to the bar and sat, the wooden stool creaking from my lean build. The bartender eyes me suspiciously as he asked, "What'll it be?"

"Whiskey," I stated. I didn't really like the taste of alcohol, but one has to keep up appearance with this sort of thing. I didn't think this guy had any tea in stock, either.

The bartender, balding and slightly plump, nodded once and got the drink ready. There wasn't much of a selection on the back wall; mostly half-finished bottles arranged in no particular order. I crossed my arms on the counter and leaned forward, looking out the window until I sensed something come up on my right. I glanced over to see a younger man, barely over 18, with curious but hard brown eyes darting over my figure. His clothes showed that he was a man not unaccustomed to hard work.

"Howdy," he said, trying to be casual. Hard sun-baked hands wrung in his lap. Despite his attempts at seeming cool and collected, we both knew that me being here was just about the most interesting thing he had seen in months.

I responded by glaring back with azure eyes. The bartender returned with my glass. I broke eye contact as I brought the smoky glass up and tasted the cool alcohol. It, like all others of its ilk, took an effort to down without gagging. Ice clinked as I set the glass down on the bar again.

"Lady of few words, ain't ya?" The kid started again.

I decided to humor him. Not like I wasn't doing anything else. "Yeah."

"What's yer name? I'm Kale."

"Rachel," I replied, downing more whiskey.

"Where didja come from...Rachel?" His voice ran over my name as if it would bite if he said it incorrectly.

"Dustshore. East of here."

"Never heard of it," he began, before his face suddenly turned to realization. "You crossed the Sea by yourself? How didja do that?"

"I walked," I said, taking another sip of the terrible whiskey. I noticed that I was rather hungry, having only eaten dried jerky and whatever small game I hunted and cooked on the walk. I set the glass down as I asked, "Bartender, what do you have in the way of food here?"

"We've got salted beef and dried fruit. Depends on what you're willing to trade for."

I reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a thin silver coin. Tossing it onto the bar, I asked, "How's that?"

The bartender didn't even give it a glance. "What do you think we'll be doing with that?"

"Caravans still come out here, don't they?"

"We ain't seen a trader here in almost two years, girl. They've just about forgotten about us."

"The Alliance..." I started.

",,,hasn't done shit out here. Nearest Alliance settlement is three weeks by horseback. They don't care 'bout us, this deep in the Dust Sea. That silver ain't going to buy you anything, sweetheart. Now, if you were offerin' your...charms...."

I adjusted my wide-brimmed hat, a lock of long black hair gliding to my shoulder. I remained silent as I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a tiny bundle of thickly-wrapped leather. I unbound it on the bar table, revealing five small, obsidian seeds.

"Rockfruit seeds. They come from far to the northeast, and can grow anywhere. Give them a little water every few weeks and you've got enough food to feed everyone in this town."

The bartender picked one of the seeds up, examining it. Kale looked on in astonishment. "...Looks like you got yourself dinner, little wanderer, maybe even a room for the night," the former said, "I would even offer you one of the whores, if'in you, ah, would enjoy that."

"The meal and the room will be enough, thank ya," I replied, flatly.

The older man dropped the seed onto the others. "But, ah, if these aren't...fertile..." he started.

"They are," I glared back.

"But if they aren't..."

"...I won't be leaving this town alive."

"Smart one you are, girl. I'll get your meal ready," the bartender finished. He moved to the far side of the bar and called for the piano player to get "something" ready for me. The musician - an old, wispy man - slid off the piano bench in an exaggerated motion and crossed into a back room.

Kale continued staring at me. "What is it now?" I asked.

"You, uh, you've been a lot of places, ain't ya?"

"Yeah," I replied, taking another swig of the half-forgotten whiskey.

"Where are you going now? Can't've come all the way out here to see this shithole!"

"No one's been to the far side of the Sea of Dust."

"Of course not! It's just endless dunes past here, nothing but sand and dirt!"

"Has to be something out there."

"But...why would there be?"

"Because the world doesn't just end, Kale. There's something out there, because there's always something out there."

-----

This stars Rachel Aensland, probably one of my favorite self-created characters. She's a post-apocalyptic/Western gunslinger in the fine tradition of characters played by Clint Eastwood, because I am actually surprisingly not that well versed in Westerns. This is probably the first part of a longer series of stories starring Rachel. One of these days, I might write a sort of self-introduction, to show you where she came from.