The Gila Wars by Larry D. Sweazy Page A

locked part of his memory, never to be opened again. But he had neither a match nor the ability to rid himself of such memories, so the effort was futile.
    Josiah walked straight into the coming rain. He felt no fear, not until the cold rain finally roused him from his stupor, and he realized that he didn’t know where he was. With that, he stopped and looked behind him. There was nothing there but a wall of rain, threatening in its blackness, in its swirls of power. Even lightning seemed to fear it. There was none to be seen. Only the wind seemed to be in cahoots with the rising storm.
    From Arroyo, he was coming into a flat area down and away from a low series of limestone outcroppings. The ground was swampy and full of knee-high reeds that grew taller on the distant horizon. A few seabirds scattered about, worried gulls and terns looking to find shelter, struggling in the wind like kites lost without the guiding pressure of a human hand. Other than that, there were no other creatures to been seen or heard. It was like Josiah was the only man in the world, alone at the edge of land, with nowhere else to go. He could not see the ocean, but he could hear the rumble of it in the distance, taste it on his lips, imagine the crashing waves against the rocky beach.
    In a matter of minutes, the rain began to steadily fall. The wind gusted up, meeting Josiah in a great thrust, pushing him farther away from the cantina. He wore no coat to protect himself with. He had nothing but the Peacemaker on his hip, his hat, and his wounds, which reminded him that he was not whole, that he was still weak, unable to defend himself fully. The wind nearly blew his hat off, a trusted felt Stetson that was irreplaceable as far he was concerned.
    Recognizing that he was alone also brought back the reality of his exposure. He could be walking right into Cortina’s camp for all he knew.
    Josiah wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking. It was a stupid way to react to the letter, running off from an unfamiliar place into an even more unfamiliar place. He should have expected Pearl to toss him aside a long time ago. They were too different. Maybe too desperate to find someone to fill the void left by those who had exited this world, and their lives. Or maybe he was too much of a reminder of her father, a rambling man, her concern more about trust than loss. He didn’t care. Not now.
    Out of steam, certain that if he kept on walking he’d run into the ocean, or trouble, Josiah decided to turn back and return to Arroyo, if he could find it again. At least he had friends there, a comfortable bed, safety in numbers.
    He was defeated and tired, all of the energy that he had gained in his healing almost lost. The unexpected turn of the letter had dulled all of his senses, but they were coming back alive, reminding him of the recent events, of his duty to move forward and be ready for Scrap when he returned. There was no way Josiah was going back to Austin anytime soon. He would rejoin the fight against Cortina no matter what shape he was in. Captain McNelly needed every man he could get, and even at half his normal capabilities, Josiah felt that his years of experience could make up for what he physically lacked.
    Putting one foot in front of the other, walking into the wind became difficult as the trail he’d come down jutted upward away from the flat ground. He hadn’t noticed the incline coming down it.
    Thunder boomed behind him, over the ocean, and the ground shook angrily, nearly toppling Josiah. He needed a walking stick, a cane of some kind to keep his balance, but there were no sticks lying about, only hollow reeds.
    Struggling, he made it to the top of the outcropping. The rain grew heavier, and it obscured his vision. He’d hoped to see the village of Arroyo on the horizon, but it had been swallowed up by the gray wall of rain and the raging clouds of the storm. He couldn’t see anything. Cold rain peppered his