The Adventures of Snake-Eye

Gerald ‘Snake-Eye’ McLaw squinted as he gazed into the sun glimmering over the treetops. It was late afternoon and he had stopped atop a rock to rest, his trusty hound resting to one side. The bounty hunter scratched at his rough chin thoughtfully as he watched the dog roll in the dust of the trail, her tongue lolled out to one side and a playful look in her eyes.

Carrick Bend, ’ey? he thought, taking the folded-up poster out from within his jacket pocket. There was no photograph of the man, simply a drawing of the knot in question. Snake-Eye turned back to his dog.

“What do you reckon, Doris? Some story, huh. Some bugger no one’s ever seen leaves one of these li’l grass pretzels around, and a few hours later… Bang! The poor sod’s dead and the guy’s nowhere to be found. How do you like that?”

Doris replied with no more than a blink of her eyes before returning to her rapid panting. Her master scratched her behind the ear. He got to his feet with a groan and a stretch of his arms, a loud click coming from his lower back.

“Haven’t been on the road for quite some while, have we girl? Bloody cybernetic replacement was a con I tell ya. Good fer nothin’ gangsters is what that lot are.”

Doris barked enthusiastically and ran ahead of Gerald, disappearing into the thick brush that surrounded the sandy path to either side. He picked up his satchel from where it lay beside his foot and walked slowly after his dog. He unhitched a flask from his belt and took a swig – a hot surge rushing through him as the whisky ran down his throat.

That hits the spot…

It was hard to find whisky anymore. You practically had to be a criminal to get your hands on any. Good thing I straddle that line about as well as my bike… when I had a bike… con men I tell ya…

Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he walked across the empty landscape; the whistle of the wind audible as it rolled over the hills. Sparse trees dotted the otherwise unbroken expanse of green and brown, not a sign of animal or human life to be seen but for the faint trail along which he walked. Gerald stopped as he reached the hilltop, the slit in his eye narrowing as it scoped out the region ahead.

“Not a bloody town for miles,” he said, taking another swig from his flask. He looked up to the sky and saw that it was beginning to tint orange with the slowly setting sun. I’d best be stopping for the night… He looked at the poster once again. We’ll be meeting soon enough my friend.

Bill Wilkinson stopped as he arrived outside his front door. His wife had forgotten to leave the light on again. He sighed. Late nights… such was the life of a call centre agent. Not the manliest of professions, he knew. From his coat pocket he drew forth a matchbox and struck a light. With the porch now illuminated, the man fumbled about for his keys, until he noticed something lying atop the wooden step.

Is that…? It was a little grass knot, tied quite meticulously. He picked up the strange trinket, examining its pretzel-like design. What the…

Just then the door burst open from within, hitting Bill as it swung out and sending him flying into the dirt. As he looked up towards the doorway, he saw a dark figure, its silhouette stark against the yellow light of inside. As the man stepped down from the porch, Bill could clearly see a rope, hanging from the ceiling of his living room, a lifeless corpse dangling by the neck.

His eyes widened in horror. The figure took another step towards him, a jingle with each leg he put forward as the spurs rattled on the heel of his boots. Bill back further and further away, scuttling on his feet and elbows but the figure simply continued its steady stride. Then it halted.

“Ol’ Madeline ain’t feelin’ so good just now,” the man said. Bill’s heart was beating frantically as his breath caught in his throat. “I think she’d like you to join her.”

There was a ‘chink-chink’ as the man cocked his rifle, the long barrel aimed down the nose of the cowering clerk.

“Please, what did I do? I haven’t done –”

Bill was cut off by a loud bang as his head splattered across the ground. The Carrick Bend Cowboy blew the smoke from the end of his gun and strode off casually to his waiting hoverbike.

Gerald sniffed the blood on his fingers. “I’d say this happened last night,” he said, getting back up from his crouched position.

The long-mustached sheriff stood with crossed arms and a frown on his face. “No shit, son, I coulda told ya that.”

Snake-Eye ignored the complaints of the older man and walked over to the wooden porch, where the door still stood ajar. “It was definitely him,” he said, seeing the small grass knot, lying so plaintive and unassuming outside the house.

“Say, just who are you any –”

The sheriff was silenced as the bounty hunter looked him in the face, the slit in his eye clearly visible. The cold glimmer of the eye left the sheriff with a quiver on his lips. “You’re him, ain’t ya? Ol’ Snake-Eyes.”

“That’s Snake-Eye. Only got one, see?” He pointed to his flaring line of a pupil.

The sheriff shivered as a chilling uneasiness ran down his spine. “Well whomever you might be, son, you best be gittin outta my town, before you scare the ladies to death.”

Gerald laughed. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said with a wicked smile. “But hey, some of them are into that stuff.”

The bounty hunter shrugged as he turned away. The sheriff found he had no words as the man walked off into the wilderness, his dog close at his heels.

So… he can’t be far now… Though he thought this, Gerald McLaw had seen the impression the parked bike had left around the back of the house, so he knew that his target could have already made some distance. Still, he remained hopeful. I’ve caught up. He must be getting cocky. Killers have to stop to kill. I, fortunately, do not have such a hindrance.

The pair had been walking for some hours when Doris barked.

“Oh, quiet you,” the bounty hunter said.

She barked again. Then a third time.

“What?” he asked, walking up to his companion and placing a hand on her furry shoulders. His eyes narrowed. Hanging from a tree was a corpse; now, in the early afternoon, already pecked away at but the ravenous birds which roamed the shrub land. Not so uncommon a sight, but what caught Gerald’s attention was the writing carved into the dead man’s bare chest.

STOP FOLLOWING

ME OR ELSE

Below the writing was a carving of a carrick bend, the dried blood now crusted around its edges. He smirked.

“So, the bastard’s caught on to us, huh?” He petted his dog. “Don’ let it bother you, Doris. It’s an empty threat when the bugger’s nowhere to be seen.”

He turned and, as if on cue, a rope tightened around his ankle, pulling him by the leg into the branches above.