Boom, the thunderous crash assailed the mind, and he jerked. Cassidy could still hear the cannons, feel them. The dirt clung to skin as smoke clawed the chest, and brushed at his face to dispel the memory. It faded, grew, and swallowed the world. Eyes, blue as the dawn, wondered into the past. A shade of blood rested on the tongue, as all became the forest, desert gone.

Captain Barnabas Lee grabbed his shoulder to steady him. Again, the bounty hunter's mind returned to that day. So strong was the memory, the ghosts could be felt, smelled, and heard; yet, it was on tracks. Like a train, it would have one destination. Slash of fear, strong now as then, gripped him. The Confederates were tough, many Federals had fallen. Cassidy shook his head to dispel the images, prayed to be released, but there was only the forest.

He nodded to the Captain, smile a stony grin, and felt steadier. Barnabas returned the gesture, smile a devil-may-care. All of the men, Cassidy included, admired him, so would follow the Union Officer anywhere. Gray eyes rolled over them as a storm; all calmed. Strong were his featured; noble was his brow. The orders given were from example and care. No man under him ever feared injustice. They strove to be as the man himself.

Rebels yelled, and the Captain turned. Cassidy wanted the memory to end, heart tearing asunder. Brave was Barnabas, tough as any man in the regiment. "Too tough," Cassidy lamented, but the ghosts ignored him. His head hung, "Please!" To this plea the memory was indifferent.

The Confederates came with a rebellious howl. Captain Lee saw they had them outnumbered. With a wild grin, he drew his saber, which was deadly in his hand. Out into the field, Barnabas led his men; Cassidy followed, helpless to change the memory. North and South rushed to meet in the clearing's center. Again, the bounty hunter yelled to stop, something was off. Why was there a waist high trench, he'd thought that day, but they'd soon know the answer.

Before they met, the Confederates hopped down into the ditch. At the tree line, where the Grays had emerged, branches were pulled back. A row of cannons waited. Barnabas halted his men, but they were exposed. To the ground, the Captain threw Cassidy and Tommy "Pretty" Watts with an order for all to take cover. Sound of the cannon fire deafened, world reduced to chaotic thunder. Men were obliterated, yet their officer, their hero, stood. One shot had torn off one leg, though he stood. Rebels, seizing an opportunity, jumped to strike down the Union commander. Even wounded, his smile still held, and he cut down all three.

"Retreat," Barnabas called, but stood his ground, "I'll end this scum!"

Another soldier, ignoring the order, rushed to the Captain's aid. If not for Cassidy slipping, he would've reached him first. Another barrage of cannon fire shattered the world, revenge for the three dead Grays. More of the Union men fell. Screams chocked the smoke filled miasma, which the slow wind moved over the no man's land. One shot caught the selfless soldier, to Cassidy's horror. The blast smashed him in the chest. An explosion of blood and bone shrapnel sheared off part of Barnabas's face, tore at his stomach, and he held his guts, which wanted to spill out. Cassidy cursed the heavens, threw himself to the Captain's aid, yet the cloud from cannon fire moved over them. He lifted the officer, who screamed in a hellish agony.

"KILL ME," Barnabas screeched, ruptured eye a bloody ruin, "That's an order!"

Cassidy saw white teeth, where the man's cheek had been. "I…Captain," he could smell urine, human waste, blood, dirt, scorched meat, gun smoke, and soured sweat, "I can't!" Vision blurred as the Captain wailed, "You're…fine! It is only a flesh wound!" he swallowed down vomit. "I'll get you help, and we'll teach those REBS!" Pound of his heart pulsed with a deep ache.

"Bullock," he tried to command, but the world was a soupy gray. Another shriek tore from the ruined officer.

"He screamed," Cassidy muttered, as the memory released him, "until his voice went out, they said." The bounty hunter wiped at his eyes, shook upon his horse.

The mustang had slowed to a halt, sensed its rider's distress. He set his hand on the saddle's pommel to steady it. Until the memory's attack, he'd felt better. Last few jobs had filled his coffers, and there were plenty of supplies in his pack. Time dragged, but his heart slowed, sweat dried. Eyes, light azure, closed, and he drew in air, released it. Air of the desert was desiccated in the mouth. Wind whispered over the land, just enough to brush hard grit over exposed skin. Low, ragged breaths filled his ears, but his heart finally slowed.

The horse, patience finally expended, shook its head with impatience. With an apology and a pat to settle the noble beast, he looked around at the road, but saw he'd traveled far under the memory's grip. He froze. Before him was a sign, name familiar. Chill claws ran up his back, hairs raised. "Cimarron," he read aloud, tone flat. It was where Captain Lee had returned, after the medical discharge. Strange was fate, the bounty hunter marked, for him to find himself here. Though he'd experienced much, even things beyond his ability to explain, luck or fate, he'd seen enough to accept. All that could have a logical explanation should be given over to that reasonable assumption. The intention he'd come to this crossroad, which led to the Captain's home town, was reasonable, if he took the time to consider it.

"I probably came this way, not thinking," he nodded, "because it preys on my mind." Cassidy said with more confidence than he felt, and the horse shook its head unconvinced. Towards Cimarron he road, but fought the tightness in his chest. Eyes withdrew from shadows that haunted all.