Work Text:
Wyatt fished a fallen branch out the river with his stick. He was sure professionals had safer tools for this, but who needs that when you have man’s greatest achievement, the stick? He leaned it against a tree to give his hands a break when the hair on his neck stood up and he paused to listen. He could’ve sworn he heard a rustle from the trees. It was hard to hear over the waterfall rushing by. Frontier Trail was well shaded which was convenient during the hot sunny days, but left him vulnerable at night as there was no way to see what could be coming at you. He brushed it off and continued his work when he heard it again. Footsteps, too many to be one human. He dumped his bucket in the rapids to fill it with water. It wasn’t the ideal weapon, but at least it was something. He watched the woods for any sign of movement. Outside of livestock and wild birds, there typically weren't many animals on the peninsula. At least, not natural ones. His imagination conjured up images of the mysterious freaks of nature held on that forbidden island across the Snake River.
Another rustle. He primed himself to hit and run. A figure stepped out of the shadows and he recognized a human leg. Unfortunately, he’d already moved on reflex and doused them with water. The individual stopped in her tracks, looking peeved at the man. It was a woman with caramel skin and long dark hair under a cowboy hat. She wore beige chaps and a red fringe button-up with boots. Behind her was her steed, a black mustang, who looked just as pissed as its rider.
He cringed at his mistake, feeling a little dim that in his panic, he’d chosen a bucket as his weapon over a large stick. Then again, it was sort of a blessing in disguise that he’d picked the less harmful option. He rubbed his nape and blushed. “I apologize, miss,” he said with an Appalachian drawl, “You sure gave me a right scare sneaking up on me like that.”
“You should watch where you’re throwing that,” the woman said. She glared at him from underneath her hat’s brim. That hateful look she so carelessly dished out was usually reserved for mortal enemies, not strangers.
“What’re you doin’ all the way out here? Quite a ways off the main trail.”
She didn’t respond verbally, instead wringing out her hair and maintaining eye contact.
“Oh, where are my manners?” Wyatt said before offering her his mostly dry work towel. She refused the filthy rag. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged and slung the towel back over his shoulder. Even her horse looked insulted. “Pleasure to meet you, miss. Name’s Wyatt. Wyatt Landon!” He stuck a working man’s hand out for a handshake which she rejected with a disgusted sneer. So much for being a gentleman. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before. Where’d you say you was from?”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh. Well, what can I do ya for? Miss…” He trailed off with an open hand, gesturing for her to provide a name.
“Maeve,” she finally said after a few seconds of deliberation.
“Maeve! Lovely name for a lovely lady.” Once again, she didn't react to his compliment that rang as hollow as every other rural pleasantry. “Say, that’s a mighty fine horse ya got there. Mustang, I reckon. What a beauty.”
Maeve smiled for the first time. “He sure is,” she said fondly, stroking his mane. The horse relaxed with her contact. There’s something special about the bond between a rider and her horse and he could tell those two were inseparable. It even had her eyes. Dark in both color and spirit.
“If y’all are lost, I’m sure I could help y’out. I know this here town like the back of my hand. I’d be happy to point you in the right direction.”
“I take it you’re a local?”
“Do I look like one of them POINT fellers? Ain’t hidin’ a white coat under these here overalls.” He hooked his thumbs on the straps and pulled them out to demonstrate. His joke landed flat, as expected, but it made him think. POINT. That fancy shmancy science facility on the other half of the peninsula. The people that swooped in and snatched up their land, acre by acre, until they were literally backed into a corner. Frontier Town was already a pretty isolated place when it was founded, but POINT’s interference fully cut them off from the world. Frontier Town’s population, culture, and technology grew stagnant, leaving them trapped in the past. POINT ensured the peninsula and all their experiments on it were secure. No one could get in or out. A new face in Frontier Town wasn’t just a rarity. It was an impossibility.
Wyatt didn’t know much about POINT. He didn’t know much about most things, but he knew Frontier Town and it’s people. He didn’t know her face. “Say,” he began, taking a step toward her, “How’d you find your way over–” His voice raised as his bare feet slipped on one of the wet rocks. He was barely able to regain his balance by grabbing a hanging branch.
Maeve didn’t even flinch to help. “Careful there. You don’t wanna fall in.”
The man readjusted himself and returned to stable ground, quickly losing his previous train of thought. “Aw, don’t worry. This part’s shallow. Still a mighty strong current, but these ankles can handle it. Any deeper and I’d be carried away like a dropped apple in a pig pen.” He chuckled and the woman gave him an odd smile. He was happy to get anything besides a scowl from her, but something about it was off. Her eyes scanned his body like she was sizing him up for food.
She began fiddling with the rope at her side, attempting a specific knot as she walked up the bank’s minor incline. “You seem like a real sweet guy.”
He was pleasantly surprised, that being the first friendly thing she'd said to him thus far. “Aw shucks, miss. That’s awfully kind of you.”
“Makes me feel bad for what’s about to happen.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing personal.” With that, she delivered a swift punch that knocked him to the ground. The impact was above his left ear in that tender area of his skull. Pain in his temple radiated throughout his head like a ringing church bell. It was only worsened by his face smacking into the rocky ground. Through the haze of black stars, he saw his attacker turn her back. He tried to take the opportunity to stand, but his motor skills were delayed and weak. She tied a quick clove hitch to a nearby branch and returned to kick her victim in the chest. Disoriented, the man barely noticed the noose being wrapped around his neck and the boot pinning him to the ground. Without a second of hesitation, she pulled him up and threw him into the river.
Wyatt thrashed against the current. His arms had two options: push himself out of the water or loosen the noose closing off his throat. Any few breaths of air he could take were through a coffee straw-sized esophagus. His hands and bare feet slipped on the algae-coated rocks of the riverbed. The water flooded his throat, mouth, and lungs. If he was unsubmerged, he thought it would pour out of his eyes and ears like a fountain. His throat was on fire despite it having nowhere to burn inside the surrounding liquid.
Eventually, his strength dwindled and his body was overcome by the rushing rapids. Each of his muscles weakened until he was left a limp mass at the end of a rope, waving like a flag at half-mast. The woman reeled in her prized catch, released him from the rope and dropped him back into his watery grave. Without a sliver of remorse, she took back her rope and left on her trusty steed, leaving the discarded body floating down the river. In the darkness, he was almost indistinguishable from the debris he cleaned out.
The next morning, Theodore Cannon walked along the riverbank and scanned the bed. His job was to maintain the rivers of Frontier Town by fishing out debris and keeping the water clean. He shared this job with his brother, Wyatt, who was assigned to the plunge pool and its designated dual waterfalls. Theo worked on a nearby meandering river which was much larger and more work-intensive. Because of this, his work period lasted longer than Wyatt’s, something the eldest sibling would remind him of every day. That’s how he knew something was wrong when his shift wasn’t interrupted by his brother’s obnoxiously chipper morning greeting.
His eyes being glued to the riverbed, he almost tripped over an empty bucket on the bank. His gaze drifted a few feet down the bend and spotted a pale shape protruding from the water. As he got closer, his thighs weakened and stomach churned. His legs buckled beneath him and sent him falling to the ground. Wyatt’s dead body was stuck against a large branch in a sharp bend in the meandering river’s path. The way his arms were lodged between the branch’s wooden cavities made his pose resemble that of a man relaxing against a log after a hard day’s work. Theo suppressed the rising bile in his throat to spare a glance at his brother’s sorry state. His blonde locks waved over his bloated and discolored face which matched the robin’s egg blue of his undershirt. There were minor abrasions around his head from scraping against the rocky riverbed. His fingers were pruny and pale. The cheerful glow his face held in life was replaced by a corpse like pallor and glassy eyes. His brother was a limp husk of the man he once was.
It didn’t make sense. Wyatt was a capable swimmer who had gotten himself out of much tougher binds than whatever had happened here. Perhaps he’d caught a particularly strong current and luck wasn’t on his side. Stronger men had been taken out by less.
Through his teary eyes, Theo noticed a ring of dark ligature marks with perpendicular scratch marks around Wyatt’s neck. He was willing to bet there was skin and hemp fibers under the nails of the body’s wrinkled fingers. The putrid stench of rotting flesh and foul play poisoned the air. This would not go unnoticed. He’d get to the bottom of this. And he wouldn’t rest until the culprit was a second bloated carcass floating down the river.