Rocks shifted and tumbled as Tracy pulled himself out from under the pile of stones. Bruises and soreness scored his body. But that was nothing compared to his soul when he realized he was not alone.

At first he'd thought the boy was dead too, lying next to his mother. But as Tracy drew near, he startled the child so that he sat up. Then Tracy realized that this boy, all alone, had done the only natural thing he knew to do to hide himself from the dust blowing on the frigid wind. Laid down with his stiffened mother.

Tracy scoured the horizon, squinting. No sign of Roy or his followers.

Chasm? Nowhere to be found.

He'd chased Roy hundreds of kilometers, if not thousands. They were stuck smack dab in the middle of uncharted territory. And if they headed back, they'd be forced to go through unfriendly Arab-owned sand, whom Tracy had already shot at.

Press on? He eyed the kid, who stared back at him with big saucer eyes.

The rocks that had buried him still left his mind dizzy and disoriented. Besides being clubbed on the head, he'd awoken suppressed, not able to draw a full breath in his lungs, unconscious for who knew how long. One simple, gut-wrenching task lay before him. Once he buried her, he could think clearer.

Taking the boy by the hand, he led him to the mouth of the cave, retrieved his duster, wrapped it around the child, and instructed him to sit. He made sure he had a few choice stones to play with, ones with interesting textures and vibrant colors.

Without a shovel, Tracy was forced to dig a shallow grave with his hands. After that, he picked up Cora and gently laid her in the depression. He didn't have the time or the means to make the hole big enough. The sand kept falling back into it. In the end it resembled a large teardrop. He curled her legs up in the fetal position so that no part of her body lay exposed to the elements. One by one he gathered the large and small rocks, smooth and rough, the ones that he crawled out of, and piled them atop her. They ranged in different hues of red, from rust, vermilion, cerise, cinnabar, wine, to scab maroon, creating a mosaic of crimson.

Each stone placed knocked against the previous, a tally against Roy, a strike on his record. He'd amassed a debt he could never repay.

But Tracy could not collect. That was not his duty. His job was to collect Roy himself to be brought into a public gathering and face the pronouncement of the Law against him.

Tracy did not cry or even shed a tear. He wrestled with the torrent inside, channeling it into the actions he must take. Even had the tears run free, they'd have boiled and evaporated into hot steam under the immense heat his inner blaze gave off.

When he finally returned to the cave, he found little Ashton tucked against the wall. When the little boy saw the lawman return alone, he stood up, eyes growing wide.

He looked beyond Tracy.

"Mommy?"

The wind died.

"Mommy?"

A rare thick cloud passed in front of the sun, casting a rarer blackened shadow across the land under their feet, eclipsing them in a moment of darkness.

When the bleak nothingness answered, the boy cried out with fervor.

"Mommy!"

"Kid."

The child didn't hear him.

"Boy."

The boy's eyes grew wide and watery.

Tracy knelt down beside the little boy, leaning in close, speaking low, just above a whisper.

"Ashton."

The boy saw him as if for the first time.

"Mommy gone."

He hugged the boy, holding him tight.

The boy was unsure at first, but accepted the hug. Then returned it.

A gust kicked up sand in the little tike's face. The boy squinted, trying to keep grains out of his eyes and mouth.

"That won't do. Here you go lil' buddy."

Tracy strapped the respirator and goggles on the kid. They didn't fit exactly, weighing his head down on his little neck, but it would have to do. Large round eyes peered at him through the lenses, striking Tracy like a spike through his chest. Tracy chuckled in spite of the circumstances, then tousled his hair.

Standing, holding Aston's hand in his flesh one, he scoured the horizon, from one side to the other.

White hot wrath met frigid, heart-rending bitterness, forming a gale storm within Tracy, threatening to cause destruction whichever direction it decided to blow.

But how to proceed?

Backtrack?

Cora reared the child singlehandedly. He doubted anyone here on the entire planet had any relation or obligation to the orphaned boy. Who would Tracy give him to? Not a good option.

Press on?

That meant putting the boy in grave danger. Roy had no scruples ending anyone's life. He'd demonstrated how deep his depraved soul delved, diving well beyond decency, dabbling in deranged deviance, and delighting in debasement.

Roy didn't deserve death.

Death deserved Roy.

Some souls Death stole, like Cora, robbing the world of dear loved ones. But others Death earned, was rewarded even, with the likes of Royce Rothspalt.

Tracy feared that if he pressed on, he'd do things that denounced the star of authority gleaming on his chest.

Without Chasm, he and Ashton were goners. Although, from what he could determine of the tracks that hadn't yet blown away, Roy and his followers had pressed on, deeper into the wild, as if Roy knew of some hidden oasis, just out of sight. Tracy recalled what he'd found in the cave, the evidence of ancient structures crafted by intelligent design. From where he stood, Tracy must be at the edge of some elder civilization. If he pressed on, tracing Roy's tracks, moving around the mountain that housed the cave, he might find a forgotten settlement, or even a lost city. Even then, he'd be pressing his odds, with him and the child and no food or water to share between them.

Raising his smartarm, he tried to locate Chasm.

No luck.

But he could ping the horse with a homing beacon, a summoning to return to Tracy's location. He sent the ping. There was a slim chance Chasm would get the signal and return, if he was able.

They waited, first standing, then sitting.

In that time Tracy decided that if Chasm reappeared, it was a sign to press on, to brave the odds and capture Roy for good. With the steeder to ride, they could always turn back at any time and make it back to civilization.

After a while, he decided staying put was more dangerous than moving in any direction. The man and the boy walked hand in hand. Tracy tried to keep solid stone underneath their feet. The sand slowed the boy's already small steps. Every so often, the boy would stop and tug on his arm, looking back the way they'd come with confusion written on his face.

They'd never survive at that rate. Pressed for time, he picked the boy up and carried him for a while. He thought the boy rested, his small head laid in the crook of Tracy's neck, but all of a sudden he shouted in Tracy's ear with excitement.

"Horsey."

Chasm slowed from gallup to a trot as he approached. Together they patted the Mustang, speaking words of admiration and affection to the stallion. The chrome steeder brought a weathered smile to the lawman's lips, especially since it meant Ashton had a healthy distraction from the heart-wrenching reality they'd left buried in a shallow grave. The boy wanted nothing more than to ride the horsey, as he had yesterday after the speeder crash, when they sought refuge in the cave.

The marshal sat the boy in the saddle seat, strapping him in with a safety harness, then mounted, taking his place behind the boy on Chasm.

Thinking of the task ahead, Tracy growled into the wind. The decision to follow Roy was made.

"So be it.”