Episode 4: Shadows at Sundown and The Ridge of Reckoning

The town of Drywater lay simmering under the sun like an iron skillet. Dust devils spun lazily through the streets, carrying with them the whispers of the day's rumors—Calder Nash was back.

Rhea Maddox tied her horse outside the saloon, her wide-brimmed hat low over her face, eyes scanning. She'd tracked Calder across ravines and dried-out riverbeds, through whispering ghost towns and outlaw hideouts, only to find him here—of all places—sitting in the open like a man with nothing left to lose.

Inside, Calder nursed a glass of rye. The saloon was near empty, just a couple of rail workers and an old man dozing in the corner. But he knew Rhea was there before she even stepped through the door.

"You've got a death wish, showing your face in Drywater," Rhea said, sliding into the booth across from him.

Calder didn't flinch. "Only if death's faster than Crowe."

She leaned in. "You still thinking about taking down the Circle alone?"

His eyes met hers, steady and cold. "Not alone anymore, are we?"

---

The two set up camp just outside town. Rhea brought maps, stolen manifests, and word from wandering scouts. The Ash Circle wasn't just raiding towns anymore—they were building something. Stockpiling explosives, recruiting sadists, and spreading whispers about a grand fire that would wash away the old West.

"Vane's going to make the war look like a church picnic," she muttered.

"And he'll start with Hollow Ridge," Calder replied. "That's where we make our stand."

That night, as coyotes sang and the fire crackled low, Calder couldn't sleep. Visions came again—of burning churches, children screaming, Vane's laughter echoing through it all. He woke before dawn, breathing hard, hand on his revolver.

"You still dream about it, don't you?" Rhea's voice came from the shadows.

He nodded. "Every night."

---

In the morning, they rode fast and hard toward Hollow Ridge. Along the trail, they came across the remnants of a caravan—wagons overturned, bodies mutilated. Ash Circle's calling card: a circle of blackened bones around a single red feather.

"This wasn't just an ambush," Rhea said, crouching beside a corpse. "This was a message."

"To me," Calder said. "They know I'm coming."

They buried the bodies with what dignity they could offer and moved on. Calder's rage simmered, no longer cold—now it was fire.

---

By dusk, they reached Hollow Ridge, a quiet frontier outpost nestled between twin hills. The townsfolk were already uneasy, and the sheriff—an aging veteran named Judson Pike—met them with suspicion.

"You bring trouble with you, Nash," he said, hand resting near his rifle.

"I bring warning," Calder said. "Vane's headed this way. You've got three days to prepare."

Pike glanced at Rhea, then back. "And you two aim to stop him?"

"With or without your badge," she replied.

---

The town held a tense meeting that night in the chapel. Farmers, blacksmiths, and storekeeps all argued over whether to flee or fight. Calder stood quietly as voices rose.

Finally, he stepped forward. "You think Vane cares if you run? You think he'll stop at this town?"

Silence.

"He burns everything. He kills for fun now. You've got a chance—to fight back, to matter. I won't beg you. But I'll be here. Rhea too."

One by one, hands rose. Some reluctant, others trembling. But enough.

---

Later, on the chapel steps, Rhea looked up at the stars. "You ever wonder if we're cursed?"

Calder stood beside her, jaw clenched. "Maybe. But even cursed men can choose who they take with them to hell."

And somewhere, far away, Vane Crowe stood atop a ridge of smoking bones, looking westward.

"They're waiting," he whispered.

Beside him, The Whisperer grinned beneath his veil. "Then let the fire begin."

Dawn cracked over Hollow Ridge like a warning shot. Calder stood alone in the sheriff's watchtower, surveying the sleepy town now under siege by fear. Below, men sharpened pitchforks and loaded rusted rifles, their faces taut with worry.

He didn't blame them.

"You trust them?" Rhea asked, appearing beside him with a pair of steaming tin cups.

"Not yet," Calder said. "But I trust they've got something to fight for."

"Then we better give 'em a reason to hold the line."

Preparations began in earnest. Rhea trained the townsfolk—teaching them how to load fast, how to aim low, and how to survive the shock of battle. Calder worked with the sheriff to reinforce barricades, set traps, and string wire along the ridge.

Children watched wide-eyed as their fathers hammered makeshift spikes into the dirt. Mothers packed food in silence, tucking rosaries into coat pockets like ammunition against demons.

By noon, a lone rider was spotted on the horizon—white flag raised.

Calder's jaw clenched. "Messenger."

The man wore Ash Circle colors, but looked more corpse than human. Pale, sunken eyes, lips stitched shut crudely with sinew.

"He's not here to talk," Rhea muttered.

They cut the stitches. The man gurgled blood and whispered, "He comes tonight." Then collapsed, dead.

"Poisoned," said Sheriff Pike grimly. "Damn Vane."

Calder nodded. "He's declaring war the only way he knows how."

---

That night, Hollow Ridge burned with torchlight—not in ruin, but in readiness. Townsfolk stood behind barrels, behind planks, behind hope.

And then the storm rolled in.

Vane's army came not as a horde, but like shadows sliding down the hills. Dozens of men, faces painted in ash and blood. Explosives strapped to their chests. Guns. Fire. Screams.

The first shots rang out. Men fell. Barriers cracked.

Calder and Rhea fought like hellhounds.

Calder took out a saboteur before he could light the dynamite. Rhea dragged a wounded farmer out of the street, then returned fire without flinching.

But it wasn't enough.

The Ash Circle breached the west gate.

Pike took a shot to the shoulder. Calder rushed to him, covering with his Colt. "You stay with me, damn it!"

"I ain't going yet," Pike growled.

They made it back to the chapel—now a triage station and final stronghold.

Inside, the Whisperer stood.

"Hello, Calder."

Rhea froze. Calder raised his gun.

"Shoot," the Whisperer said, "and you'll miss."

He threw a powder bomb that exploded in a flash of light and sound. When the smoke cleared, he was gone.

Calder stumbled, coughing. "We've been marked."

Rhea helped him up. "Then we finish this."

---

Outside, Vane stood at the center of the ridge, watching his men breach the town. He smiled.

"This is the beginning of the end, old friend."

And with fire behind him, Vane walked into Hollow Ridge.