Falling Dark

Grims surveyed the horizon moving only his eyes. He held a long butted rifle against his shoulder, barrel hot enough to warm the air near his neck. Nothing moved. The jamperscamps and mooncats had vanished at the sound of the first shot. In the ruddiness of the setting sun, the desert scrubland felt emptier than normal but still he waited.

Finally a shadow detached from a dark pool and slid across the dips and hard ground toward Grims.

The rifle snapped down and he fired three shots. A sound followed like a man getting kicked in the stomach and a limp body rolled out into the flickering porch light.

Grims walked up and kicked the body over to see its face, keeping his rifle trained on its chest.

One of the Korpsky kids stared back at him, features already dulled by death. He was dressed in a

thin cloth that mimicked the rockiness of the ground.

“Ah hell.” Grims said. The Korpsky kids were troublemakers and petty thieves but he'd expected them to grow out of it.

Yips and yells rose in the falling night.