• The moon, silvery and cold in the night sky, left an eerie and dreadful feeling in the pit of of his stomach. The night had dragged on as the company slept, and it was his turn to stand on guard. Taking his position very seriously, he scanned the bushes and arid terrain for any sign of hostility. *crick* He spun on his heels to find himself staring down the barrel of a 44. magnum. He watched as the hammer struck, and an explosion of light and flame filled his eyes. a moment later he fell to the ground with a hole through his skull. The man watched the body as a pool of blood began to form in the shape of a halo around his head.
    The company awoke at the sound of the gunshot and scrambled to their feet, ready to fight. The men grabbed their weapons and formed a circle, standing back to back. as they scanned their camp they saw a dark figure stooping over their friend. He was cloaked and wore a black hat to cover his eyes, which glowed in the light of the moon. His gun was smoking ever so lightly and had a slight reddish glow to the barrel. As the men took aim and fired the figure vanished into the night.
    The next day, as the sun rose past the rolling hills and small shrubs that dotted the desert-like landscape, the men awoke one by one to find the grave they had dug for their comrade was gone. Missing without a trace. It seemed to the leader of this small band of fugitives, as though the ground had never been touched by human hands. The sun rose higher into the sky and the ground began to boil and burn. The group rushed to pack their belongings into the wagons before they caught flame in the heat of the day. They had been in uncharted lands for three months now, and had started traversing the desert almost two weeks ago. Now 3000 miles from any civilization, they were starting to feel it.
    Jim Strutham, a small individual in his early twenties with muscles like knotted rope, and a face similar to that of a cat, ran to his belongings on the far side the camp, directly behind the pit that had hosted a miserly fire the night before. Upon reaching his destination, he felt a feeling of despair and absolute terror in the pit of his stomach.
    Four months ago, he had gone to a soothsayer. A young fellow, six feet with yellow skin. He had looked as though the skin on his face had been stretched and pulled into position, giving him a lopsided and starving look. This strange looking person had gone into a trance before Jim could even speak. collapsing into a chair, his eyes sunk into his head, and his hands became a iridescent white. He told Jim to beware. To fear the feeling. To run.
    "What are you talking about? What the hell is-"
    "You will die. You must flee. In numbers you are strong. You will all be dead by the end if you do not." The man forced out these final words, almost choking as they came up and out of his throat. His eyes began to focus and the color came back into his hands. He looked at Jim as if for the first time, stood up from his seat, and said, "Hello there. Have you come to have your future told? Palms read? Or have you come to get a tattoo? We do both here, and yes I know—"
    Jim turned and walked through the door he had come in by.
    Now as he felt this feeling, he remembered the message that the soothsayer had told him, and he ran. Vaulting himself over the fire pit as he heard a screeching noise behind. He saw four large, white, and very sharp rocks in front of him that had not been there the night before. Jim put on the speed and jumped with all his strength as the rocks began to grow. he had jumped too early and did not clear the rocks entirely, but stepped on one of them. The rock buzzed rapidly in the split second Jim hit it and sheared off his heel. Blood flowed freely from his wound, but as he fell to the ground he rolled and was back on his feet. he kept running, never looking back, only forward to his wagon and his friends. There was another screeching noise like wind blowing too hard through too small a hole, and everything behind the rocks was gone. A hole thirty feet in diameter was left where Jim had previously been standing. His pack and belongings, his gun, and the fire pit had fallen into blackness.
    Twenty feet before the wagon, Jim started to lose sight. His vision blurred as the sound of his footsteps got louder and louder, echoing in his head. Then the beating stopped. Fwump He heard a voice and then nothing.

    Bill Simons was busy packing his equipment for the riding that day. He had extracted the bullet from his friends head the night before and had left his tools in the dirt, too tired to pick them up. He had been a doctor in his previous life for twenty years, and had believed strongly in keeping his body and mind fit as a fiddle. Bill was 6'4'', one hundred and eighty-two pounds, with 4 percent body fat. His IQ was 163, and he was probably the smartest man in the company.
    He heard a shriek over his right shoulder and saw Jim running toward some pointy white rocks. He watched with a bemused grin on his face as his friend tried to vault over the rocks in an obvious show of masculinity. As Jim's foot hit, and his heel was chopped clean off, the doctor's smile fell off his face. Blood splattered across the face of the rock and through the air. The heel went flying along with a piece of his steel bottomed boot, as Jim hit and rolled on the ground. His cat-like face was that of set determination mixed with traces of fear, giving him the look of a wild animal. His footsteps became sloppy, and his foot flopped in all directions when he lifted his leg. Bill got to his feet, dropping his things in the dust, and ran to meet him.
    Jim collapsed into the dirt face first. His heel was bleeding profusely, and it was obvious that the bone and Achilles had been cut clean through. Bill picked up his companion like he would a small child, and sprinted to the back of the wagon, yelling at another to bring his tools from the dirt.