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Masterson rocked back and forth ticking the hours away infront of the jail house. A half empty whiskey bottle was clutched in his hand and his double barrel was slung around the back of the chair. The floor boards creeked as the chair leaned forward and back, and forward and back. A festival was in process in the streets moatning the dead. Exactly a year ago today, thirty eight men died in a mine collapse a few miles north east of here. It had been a mysterious tragity and no one had been the same since.

The town of Tumbleweed had been a town with a majority of its income coming from the "Rusty Pick Mine". Most of the men in the town were now either out of work or dead. Most of the town had fallen into bottles, but not the sheriff. No, Marshall Masterson had been swimming in a bottle long before the mine accident. But his son was working in the mine and died along with the rest of them, he took a drink. The whiskey didn't help, but another sip more may do the trick.

A scream interrupted Masterson's thoughts. "What are you yammering about?" He put the bottle down and grabbed his shot gun. Walking over to where the woman had screamed. In an ally stood the mayors son Don. He had no, pupils just red eyes. All red, like a deep blood color filling where he should be able to see from. A knife twiddled in the boys hand and he let out a shrewd like no other. "Don! Don stop or I'm gonna have to..." The boy jumped ten feet into the air and came down towards the sheriff!

Click, Pow!

"Mayor ain't gonna be happy about this." As he said that a dark red mist from the north east drifted in. "Someone bring me a bottle of Whiskey, Mars is working today."

Sparks flew as Borron pounded his hammer on the red hot block of iron, the dents accumulating to eventually give it shape. In between strikes he would mumble a strange sort of incantation in a language that was mere gibberish to the white townsfolk, but to him and his people, it was a sacred prayer, thanking mother earth for allowing him to shape the iron to his liking. Borron was a member of the Iirokee tribe, the indigenous people that once inhabited the land, including the so called "Rusty Pick Mine". It was a sacred place for his people, the iron that resided in that crack was the very soul of mother earth, it was to be respected and never taken and forged without first giving the proper respects to the spirits, a mistake the "Pale Faces" payed for dearly.

He was but a boy when the Pale Faces settled the land, he and his people were drove out of their homes, leaving them with only a fraction of the land they once owned. Despite this, the Pale Faces were rather friendly to his tribe, they happily traded with them, giving them what they needed in exchange for what they were left with, it was a very civil relationship, all things considered. But it wasn't until the people of Tumbleweed began digging into the mine that tensions really started to rise. The Iirokee, Borron included, were appalled by the miners' blatant mistreatment of their sacred mine, greedily emptying it out as if they had complete right to it, when in truth they had none. Despite this, Borron became the town blacksmith at that time, hoping that he could quell the spirits' pain by at least forging the wrongfully taken metal properly. Alas, it was not enough, just as the Iirokee weeped for the suffering of mother earth, the Pale Faces wept when their loved one's were killed with the mine collapsed, the spirits were kind-hearted by nature, but the citizens of Tumbleweed had forced their hand.

He placed the block of iron in cooling oil bath, closing his eyes in solemn contemplation, he wasn't proud of what he was doing, but it was the only way he could preserve any sense of dignity for the earth's soul. He heard his door swing open, he figured it was probably a customer here to pick up an order. "I'll be with you in a moment." He said as he removed the block from the oil bath to examine it. It was then that he heard an human growl coming from the visitor and by the time he turned towards him, he was already lunging towards him, a carpenter's hammer raised in his hand. Borron's warrior instincts kicked in and he expertly dodged the attack, standing up and lowering in a defensive stance. His assailant looked up at him with his blood red eyes and Borron realized that this was to be a fight to the death. The man wildly flailed his hammer at Borron, who just avoided it with ease, and once he found an opening, he blocked the swing with his arm and hit the man in the knee with his mallet, bringing him to his feet. He then brought the hammer down onto the man's head, instantly killing him. As he laid there, lifeless, he could still feel his malice, his anger, his confusion, but most importantly, his pain. "I must tell the sherif about this, but if things are as bad as I think they're going to be, he probably already knows."

Black Crow was on the other side of the smithy collecting metal for Borron. His thick arms ached from the weight of the metal beams. Sweat beat at his forehead due to his effort and the humidity in the room. His master, Borron, had been teaching him to become a blacksmith, something Crow did not want to do. Before he was a hunter for his tribe. But since the settlers had come and pushed he tribe from their righteous home, he had been forced to live in the town. Black Crow loathed he white men. Hey had stolen his land. Crow sighed and looked over to Borron. To him Borron was just a man. Nothing more. Sure he respected him but he had no understanding or friendship. To Crow, Borron was just another face in the crowd.

Crow wiped his brow from sweat and paused. The old door to the store opened. He heard Borron say something that he couldn't hear. Then something else. A crash. Crow raced to see what had happened and saw Borron place a finishing blow to a man. Crow watched in disgust as Borron smashed his hammer onto the unknown man's head. A simple cry rang out from Crow's lips as he stared in fear at Borron. Crow was doused in fear. Would he end up like the man lying dead on the floor. Questions flooded Black Crow's mind as he stared at Borron.

As he walked out of the ally every man and woman above the age of fifteen or sixteen had collapse writhing in pain! The butcher walked out of the butcher shop, eyes basicly glowing red with blood. It dropped down his face as he ran at a nearby homeless drunk. The drunk was I effected by whatever magic or dark science this red mist had created. But the homeless drunk was effected by the butches knife in his skull. "Perry, I'm gonna have to arrest you for that ya know..." Masterson aimed dôwn sight his shot gun as the butcher ran at him, "Perry?"

Click click, POW!

The butcher fell like a tree with an axe in it. Mars jumped as someone tugged at his coat from behind him, it was two kids. Eleven and six, one was the butchers son an another was the pastor's daughter. "You kids feel funny?" They shook their heads crying. Mars looked around at the adults slowly rising from their previous seizing. Eyes of pure red and blood dripping from their mouths. Mars quickly pulled the kids into the Dusty Piano, it was the towns bar. He reloaded his shot gun as he entered but was surprised by what was inside.

Drunk Drew the bar keep, hadn't turned! And neither had most the men and women inside. "I don't know what is happening but lock all the doors!" Masterson started to lock the front door and stopped, "I need to get the other children..." He helped the two children up the stairs and showed them to one of the rentable rooms, gesturing for them to stay up there.

Returning downstairs he looked at the drunk and tipsy men and woman. "For all we know we are all that's left of Tumbleweed, take a shot every half hour." Masterson took a bottle of whiskey from Drew, "my idea is that whatever demon has come can't eat our soul if we got good ol' liquor in our bellies." The front door rattled with almost inhuman screeches. Mars opened the back door and heard it lock behind him, he had to save whatever children were left!

Borron looked up at Crow, he had a look of shock on his face, he was a hunter rather than a warrior, so seeing a man kill another man was probably shocking to him.

"He attacked me, I had no choice." He defended, attempting to reassure his apprentice. He kneeled down to the now lifeless body, his eyes now clear of the blood red color. He closed the corpse's eyes and stood back up. "Come on, something's happening out there, we need to get somewhere safer." He took off his blacksmith apron and grabbed a tomahawk and two knives that where mounted on the wall. "Take what you can to defend yourself, you're gonna need it." With that he and Black Crow left their shop and wandered into the streets, the town was already covered in the ominous red fog, and Borron could faintly make out some familiar faces walking aimlessly through it. As he breathed in the mist, he could feel it's intensions, whatever IT was. It tried to invade his mind, make him cast aside all thought in reason in favor of rage and bloodlust, but somehow he found it easy to resist, as there seemed to be an equally strong tranquil force pushing it back.

"I thank you for your protection" He mumbled in his native tongue, but he seemed to have spoke too soon, as one of the crazed citizens came rushing towards him screeching with murderous intent. He quickly took our his tomahawk and evaded the attack, quickly slicing the man's throat as he recovered, killing him. "Come on, let's get moving."

Black Crow instantly obeyed. He had no want to anger Borron. Crow was full of fear. Noticing the man kill a second man Crow immediately fell silent. He did not want to be an annoyance. Borron was dangerous and had easily proved it. But these people who walked in the dust were even scarier. On many o his hunts he had felt fear but this was new. This fear felt as if it was creeping up his throat and ready to emit itself in a petrifying scream but held it in. Crow wanted to ask Borron if he should get his bow but annoyance seemed foolish. He stayed as close to Borron as possible fearing his life was in the blacksmiths hands. He noticed that everyone in the town seemed to be in a possessed state. But the question floating in his head was why hadn't he become like them? But what about Borron? He hadn't changed either. Then a more sickening question entered his mind. Were they the last two in the entire town? He stared at the brave Borron. Just follow him. Stay with Borron

Mars had only found three more children alive, he lead them through back allies toward the Dusty Piano. A Red Eye jumped out from around the corner but was met with the butt of Masterson's shotgun. The woman, who was once a maid down at the local inn now lay dead, brains as cue on the dirt ground. "You didn't see that," Mars looked around the corner. The maid had been an older sister to one of the little girls behind him.

Mars signaled for the kids to follow and they darted across the street to another alley. They walked a block and saw two shadows walking threw the adjacent street. The bar was a block up, they'd have to go threw the road to get to the bar. But who were these two figures? Mars was out of Ammo and needed to head back to the Jail House but with these children it was much two risky... He didn't even know if he could take the two possible Red Eyes in the mist.

"Run to the Dusty Piano on the count of three," Mars said to the kids, "one, two." A kid got scared and began to run early. "For the love of god, three!" The other kids chased after as Mars prepared to fight the two men in front of him. The black smith, and his water boy, "you two ingen crazy folk?" Mars asked, wielding his gun like a bat. "Start running at me like a demon spawn and I swear my drunk ass will clock you both six ways to Sunday!"

Borron turned his head at the sudden voice. In the distance he could see a figure rushing towards him in the fog, he couldn't tell who it was at the moment, but from it's drunken rambling it didn't seem like the man had turned, he was actually sort of relieved. Once he got close enough he could see that it was the sheriff, holding his gun like a bat, probably out of bullets, or maybe he was just too drunk to remember how to use the damn thing, it happened before. Borron never really approved of the Sheriff's constant drinking, but at the end of the day he was always able to keep law and order in this small town, so he respected his authority, if only that. Mars took a swing at Borron's head but the gun was easily caught, he gripped it tightly to make sure that he wouldn't be swinging it wildly to give him a chance to talk.

"Sheriff, good, it looks like you haven't turned." He said with relief. "Calm down, me and the boy are normal too." With that Mars seemed to calm down and so he released his grip on the gun. "Judging by what you said you already know what's going on, with the people turning into... "crazy folk"?"

Frightened of the Red Eyes, the red mist, and now the Sheriff. Black Crow was confused and had hundreds of questions that he knew no on had an answer too. At this point all Black Crow wanted to do was scream and hope it all went away. But that would not do anything but annoy the two older men. Black Crow nodded in greeting to Mars and gave his best fake smile. Well now he knew that they weren't the only ones and that gave him hope. Crow noticed a few more of the zombie like people shuffling around. His fear was relentless and he finally sputtered out some words," What's going on? What's napped to the people? Why arnt we like them? When did this start? Do you know if anyone else made it?"
A few seconds after he took in a deep breath. He felt like a child but he couldn't hold it in anymore. He wanted answers. He wanted them now.

The sun had started to set in the sky, "Oh thank republican jesus you two aren't, turned into those crazy red eyes!" The sheriff chuckled and lead the two back to the Dusty Piano. "I have no idea what the hell is going on around here but if you drink enough the red mist cant getcha..." Moans outside were loud and rowdy, echoing threw the halls of the Dusty Piano. "But Mr. Borron and his orphan boy weren't drunk or drinking when i found them." People began to talk about why that may have happened, some said it's because their skin was the same color as the mist, some said maybe it was something sciencey. But Masterson thought back to the days before the Rusty Pick Mine belonged to the white man.

"The Irokee tribe had worked in the mine for generations, maybe they somehow grew resistant to whatever was changing the towns people now..." Mars theorized, he took another shot to keep his blood bubbling with booze. He knew if they were gonna make it through the night he was gonna need more shot gun rounds. "Crow, stay here and watch over the kids. You being the only other sober one." He pointed to Drunk Drew and Borron, "you too come with me, I need to get more ammo and get these clowns some weapons to defend themselves as well."

The sun vanished from the sky as anticipation grew. Moans disappeared and the three men prepared to enter the dark horror story that was TumbleWeed. "Ready men?" Mars smiled, as he kicked the door open! Silence... Bodies lay on the ground, and an eye opened. No red, just white and brown. 'What happened?' The voice was that of a woman who had just minutes ago was a savage red eye... "Wait a minute..." Masterson was now fully confused. How was no one a red eye anymore, Mars's shot gun dropped from his hand as he looked back at Borron and Drew, then threw the bar and the shocked folk inside including Crow. "What the hell... is going on??"

Strange... that was all Borron could make of this situation, it was strange. The fog was surely gone, but he could still feel the malevolent force in the air.

"It's resting..." He said in response to Masterson. "All things need rest, but who knows for how long. Sheriff, you should explain the situation to the victims of the fog, if that alcohol thing is true we may be able to prevent the Red Eyes from reappearing until you get to the bottom of this. Crow, come on, let's get back to the shop." He put away his weapon and began walking back to the smith shop, Black Crow following close behind. Everything was back to how it usually is, except now, people's blood were on their hands. He took a moment to think about the gravity of the situation, he had, and surely the sheriff as well, have taken the lives of good folk, they're neighbors, their friends, someone else's loved ones. Some could say it was justified, they were stricken with some strange, otherworldly ailment that drove them insane, they would've been killed if they didn't kill them first, but he could tell by the sheriff's face that he was horrified by what he had done. But Borron, he was used to this sort of thing, he was born and raised a warrior, the sight of dead bodies no longer disgusted him, but he was far from heartless, he knew how sacred life was, what it means to take a life, probably more so than any white man, and so he would carry this guilt for the rest of his life.