His breath reeks of ale. Clothes stench of sweat and homegrown tobacco. A voice that grinds like the railroad. Six foot six with an added inch of broken leather. Dual silver six shooters accentuate his hips. Fully bearded. Fully loaded. The coldest thousand yard stare you’ve ever witnessed.
His birth name is Sven Halldis. The town knows him as The Viking.
It’s a hot god damn day. Sven strides into town, amorphous and black in front of the punishing red sun. It’s a sight the town sees once a month. A sight that is now considered a warning.
But this time is different. He’s late. And he’s alone.
An anxious young boy runs into the Pharmacy. A tremble in his speech. “The Vikins comin’ after all Daddy. Wanme ta run upstairs and tell Mama?”
His father comes around from behind the counter and leans out the door to see the warning for himself. Wolf has been cried before. “Yes, son, please do.”
Across the street the ragtime piano stops leaking from The Saloon. A few stray men, women and children slip quietly into whichever building is most convenient. In all actuality there is no place to hide, but being indoors eases the nerves.
The sound of rocks flattening into the earth under The Viking’s heavy handmade boots gets louder and louder. It seems like a year passes between each step. Beads of perspiration build upon the brow of every single soul in town.
The Pharmacist takes a bottle off the shelf, flips off the cap and pops a few pills. His son runs frantically back downstairs, rifle in hand. “Here daddy…just in case.” He barely has time to turn the bolt and inspect the chamber before The Viking stands ominously in his doorway.
“You won’t be needin’ that today, Doc,” says The Viking. The Pharmacist’s eyes flicker in a startled confusion. His son stands in stone-stiff befuddlement. The Viking continues, “Horse is sick. Think it’s heatstroke. Not too sure but he just buckled out ’bout half a mile back. Any ideas?”
Doc swallows a brick. “Very well could be. It’s hotter than sin on Sunday. Surprised you even made it here, actually. Let me get you a bucket of water and a towel.” He hands the rifle back to his son and exits towards the back.
The Viking watches the boy carefully while waiting for Doc to return. Curious eyes stare in suspense from across the street. Not a sound is heard save for a few flies. Doc returns with the bucket and says, “Try and get him to drink as much of this as you can. Soak this towel up and lay it over his head. Probably just dehydrated…But you better hurry, or it might be too late.”
Sven takes the towel and bucket of water. With more conviction than the local Preacher portrays on a weekly basis, he says “Much obliged.” He exits the Pharmacy and heads back into the quickly setting sun.
The Pharmacist brings his son into his arms. His wife cautiously comes downstairs to join them. The Piano begins playing at The Saloon. Life once again roams the streets. And for one more brutal month of blistering summer heat, the town lives in peace.
