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Description

Master Hughes dropped the reigns and lowered himself to the ground. Sand flowed into his boot through the hole at his right big toe. He gave a pat to Patriot’s shoulder before stuffing his hands into his pockets. Eyes fixed to the barren sand, he ambled nearer to the deteriorating locomotive. The flies swarmed there, visible to both the eye and the ear.
Alyn followed her master, uninvited. Clumsy and unbalanced, she stumbled over the shifting ground underfoot. It took a moment to register what the flies were so infatuated with, and when it settled in, Alyn’s jaw dropped. She gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth.
Master Hughes took in the sight unfazed, as if he had expected the two fresh corpses to be lying there. He drew a silver flask from one pocket and flint and steel from the other.
    “W-What are you doing?” Alyn protested as Hughes sloshed the pale brown liquid from his flask onto the chests of the dead. There was a man and a woman, wrapped in one another’s sallow, sinewy arms.
Hughes grimaced and knelt. With one callous hand, he ignited sparks with the flint and steel. Where the alcohol was, the ragged clothing of the deceased lit, and fire caught quickly. Hughes, with little to no expression, rose again.
Alyn gawked at the scene, looking at each detail separately and repeatedly.
    “Don’t look so traumatized.” Master Hughes turned away, grumbling. “They were dead. What’s it matter?”
    “You knew they were going to be here! I bet you could have saved them before they died- instead of burning them!” Alyn cried, riled by his cold, impassive attitude. “You could have at least buried them.”
    “I couldn’t have saved them.” Hughes snapped, glaring back over his shoulder. “They were the refugees that didn’t make it to West Haven with the other one. The plague killed them. I didn’t have to stop here, you little brat. Take note that I did. Rather them burn than be eaten by flies. Who knows? Maybe the pests could carry the plague. I did what needed done.”
Alyn could not take her eyes off the flames, shaken. Hughes shook his head behind the child’s back and turned again to tromp back to the wagon. In silence, he brooded over his flask. He drew a vial from his pocket.

Description

Master Hughes dropped the reigns and lowered himself to the ground. Sand flowed into his boot through the hole at his right big toe. He gave a pat to Patriot’s shoulder before stuffing his hands into his pockets. Eyes fixed to the barren sand, he ambled nearer to the deteriorating locomotive. The flies swarmed there, visible to both the eye and the ear.
Alyn followed her master, uninvited. Clumsy and unbalanced, she stumbled over the shifting ground underfoot. It took a moment to register what the flies were so infatuated with, and when it settled in, Alyn’s jaw dropped. She gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth.
Master Hughes took in the sight unfazed, as if he had expected the two fresh corpses to be lying there. He drew a silver flask from one pocket and flint and steel from the other.
    “W-What are you doing?” Alyn protested as Hughes sloshed the pale brown liquid from his flask onto the chests of the dead. There was a man and a woman, wrapped in one another’s sallow, sinewy arms.
Hughes grimaced and knelt. With one callous hand, he ignited sparks with the flint and steel. Where the alcohol was, the ragged clothing of the deceased lit, and fire caught quickly. Hughes, with little to no expression, rose again.
Alyn gawked at the scene, looking at each detail separately and repeatedly.
    “Don’t look so traumatized.” Master Hughes turned away, grumbling. “They were dead. What’s it matter?”
    “You knew they were going to be here! I bet you could have saved them before they died- instead of burning them!” Alyn cried, riled by his cold, impassive attitude. “You could have at least buried them.”
    “I couldn’t have saved them.” Hughes snapped, glaring back over his shoulder. “They were the refugees that didn’t make it to West Haven with the other one. The plague killed them. I didn’t have to stop here, you little brat. Take note that I did. Rather them burn than be eaten by flies. Who knows? Maybe the pests could carry the plague. I did what needed done.”
Alyn could not take her eyes off the flames, shaken. Hughes shook his head behind the child’s back and turned again to tromp back to the wagon. In silence, he brooded over his flask. He drew a vial from his pocket.